


"of gifts and fireflies"

by huntersandangels



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Family Drama, Family Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Slow Burn, The Ultimate Gift AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-15 05:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17522426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntersandangels/pseuds/huntersandangels
Summary: Patrick Kane hasn’t lived a charmed life despite money flowing through his veins. The journey he is currently on, though paved with good intentions, proves to be a harder challenge than he could ever be ready for. The people he meets along the way give him a much more valued gift than his grandfather could ever dream of giving him.*the major character death warning doesn't apply to either Patrick or Jonny*





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The story is premised on the film ‘The Ultimate Gift’. Some of the film principles remain the same but it is handled a lot differently, though some direct quotes have been used. 
> 
> THE MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH TAG DOES NOT APPLY TO EITHER PATRICK OR JONNY.
> 
> Disclaimer: The film belongs to its creators and real people belong to themselves; I’m just playing around with it all for entertainment purposes only.
> 
>  
> 
> Real people in this story should be looked at as fictional characters and their behaviour and actions should not be considered in-real-life portrayals. 
> 
>  
> 
> Acknowledgements: Beta’d by [SkeletonGirl89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeletonGirl89). She is a gift and a joy to work with. She has been so awesome and a tremendous help throughout this long journey. Thank you so much, S.  
> All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Updates: I started writing this story back in October and even though the road had been hard and turbulent it is finally finished! The plan is to update once per day ban any real life complications.

****

 

 

Death seemed to have taken a hold of everything surrounding Forest Lawn Cemetery. The sun had died out making way for grey clouds and the blue that hung over their heads had now surrendered its colour over to thick mist. The once proudly stood willow branches were now hunched by the weight of the remaining yellow and orange hued leaves; in a sea of black and grey the only reminder that their own end was nearing.

 

The eerily silence was only mildly disturbed by the gruff, monotonous tone of the priest who looked like he too belonged six feet under and his voice a hushed whisper as if to dig its way up from somewhere deep below the earth.

 

A hard, abrupt squealing sound broke the serenity of the moment and the smell of burnt tires filled everyone’s nose. Several heads turned to the source and the shaking and mumbling began, as if the noise had somehow made everything alive again.

 

“It’s _him_ , right? It has to be.” Connor Riley Kane the second whisper-asked his sister Ava, who was too busy secretly texting on her phone to grace him with a response other than a quick shrug of her shoulders.

 

To everyone else, Patrick Timothy Kane the second was the black sheep of the family; someone to gossip over at the horrid holiday parties they were obligated to attend. To thirteen-year-old Connor though, he was a hero. The one who got out; out of the family, out of the rules, out of the stuffy suits and out from under their thumb.

 

From the corner of his eye, Connor could see his cousin Erica approaching her brother. From his left he could hear his father scoff and his mother huff but he paid no further attention. All Connor could focus on was Patrick as he was making his way towards them, blatantly ignoring whatever his sister was trying to say.

 

At first glance, to be honest, Connor felt a bit let down. He remembered him being a lot taller the last time he saw him. Then again, he had been small for his nine years back then and everyone seemed huge to him. The closer Patrick got to Erica, the easier it was for Connor to take the sight in.

 

Patrick was wearing dark jeans and leather boots, his olive leather jacket hung open revealing more black material. His hair was a mess of unruly curls and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week. There were marks on his neck that his sister seemed to want to hide by tagging the collar of his jacket upright but Patrick swatted her hand away, a smirk plastered on his face.

 

It was about that time that Patrick caught him staring, making Connor’s eyes open wider, both thrilled and scared at the same time. Patrick held his gaze for what seemed like a lifetime and….winked. He winked and strutted past him, leaving him red faced, flustered and with a buzz in his ears. He could barely make out judgmental comments about impropriety, disrespect and having no shame but all Connor could really think was that Patrick Timothy Kane the second was so damn _cool._

 

 

*

 

 

Patrick could feel them staring, he could hear the harsh whispers even if he couldn’t really make out the words. Once upon a time he would have craved the attention, now all he wanted was to go back to his hard earned invisibility. In the end it didn’t matter; he was so used to it by now, having to put that persona on and double shield his walls.  Their stiffened postures as he walked passed them were nothing new either but none of this was enough to pierce his well constructed armour.

 

It had taken him a lot of time, effort and unfortunately for him countless amounts of tears to be able to grow a thicker skin but he had somehow done it and nothing they did could even come close to touching him; not the crowd at large at least. The others, he had to keep his distance to come out unharmed.

 

When he saw Erica approaching him, he couldn’t help but smirk. He had a bet going with himself who they would send to deal with him and apparently he had won.

 

“You’re late.” Was the first thing out of his sister’s mouth, not even a hello or a how do you do; but that didn’t even surprise him. Erica, with her black skirt suit set perfectly pressed and her blonde hair neatly tucked in a low bun, apparently now held the position of a more than adequate Kane-approved minion.

 

Patrick shrugged. “It’s not like he has anywhere to be, he’s dead.” 

 

Erica’s lips made an attempt to move before thinking better of it, wanting to scoff as she quickly composed herself. The Kanes were not to have any sort of reaction that would make them appear remotely human, at least in public. It was one of the rules and God help him, his fucking family had a ton.

 

He caught her eyes scanning him up and down, probably trying to decide if he was decent enough for the present company and it wasn’t hard to miss when she spotted the marks. Her whole body stiffened and she shook her head.

 

“Jesus, Patrick. What were you thinking?” She carefully raised her hand as not to draw attention to the fact and tried to fix the collar of his jacket.

 

He swatted her hand away and his lips rose in a cheeky grin. “That I wanted to cum. _Hard_. A bit of biting always does the trick.”

 

He quickened his step, not in the mood for her judgemental words that were bound to follow. He was who he was and liked what he liked and no one was going to ever make him feel like he had to apologise about it ever again.

 

He met the stares and the glares straight on, winking and grinning not giving them a chance to find the chips in his armour. Only once did he lower his eyes, just to see the coffin being covert with dirt and flowers. Standing there, above the deep ditch, he offered nothing; no petals, no dirt, no sympathy. All he had to give now was his anger, bitterness and a heart broken in half; and those, he didn’t want to part with. They weren’t even his to begin with; they were Donald’s last gifts to him.

 

 

***

 

 

Joel scanned the table around him and wanted nothing more than to throw everyone out. Vultures each and every one of them, with their claws out, ready to dig at the carcass that was once Donald.  Vultures that were disguised as a grieving family until they smelt the blood and the masks had finally come off.

 

He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Good morning. Before we start I’d like to take the opportunity to say what a huge loss this is for our whole firm. Donald wasn’t just a business partner; to most of us he had been a mentor and a father figure.”

 

“Yes, that’s very nice.” Patrick Sr. interrupted him with no tact whatsoever, not a fan of platitudes it seemed. “Now, may we proceed?”

 

Joel wanted to shake his head but all he did was give him a hard glare that he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. “Donald’s will is in his own words; still every bit is legal and binding.”

 

He paused just to enjoy everyone squirming in their seats, eager to devour the pieces he was going to throw at them. “To my eldest son, Patrick Sr., I leave my company ‘Kane’s & Kane’s Distillery’.”

 

He paused to give Mike a chance to talk numbers. The young associate straightened his wire rimmed glasses and punched a few keys on his laptop. “Currently worth, 400 million dollars.”

 

Mike informed without taking his eyes off the screen, missing how Patrick Sr., or Tiki as he liked to be called, straightened up in his seat like a peacock. He didn’t know it was hunting season and Joel was about to shoot him down. This, he would definitely enjoy.

 

“Since we are all aware what happened to his car dealership and in order to ensure that my life’s hard work doesn’t end up the same way, the board will maintain control.”

 

He didn’t bother to pay attention to the ruckus that the statement caused; he let Maggie handle it. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been expecting it. He just let himself relax in his seat and revel at the sight of the blood draining from Tiki’s face.

 

It got so much worse when Maggie informed him they had to leave the premises at once per Donald’s instructions that Joel had to motion to Duncan to remove them. Only the eldest daughter, Erica, paused at the door. “Mr. Manche, sir…uh” she adjusted her jacket, probably to hide her trembling hands “what about us?” she finally muttered.

 

“I apologise Mrs. Kane, I don’t think I understand.”

 

“My- My sisters and I? Surely, grandpa made provisions?” Joel didn’t know if the red tinting her cheeks was embarrassment or anger.

 

“Your family will be allowed to continue living at the house Donald had gracefully granted to you and the monthly allowance you were receiving will still be in place. It was always taken out of the company’s profits your father just inherited. My associate will explain everything soon, don’t worry.”

 

By the look on her face, Joel gathered she was anything but reassured.

 

He rearranged his paperwork and took a deep breath, psyching himself up for round two. “To my youngest son, Connor Sr., I leave my horse boarding and breeding farm, in the hopes he can for once in his life earn a honest living and use his hands for something other than fondling his mistresses.”

 

This time it wasn’t just yelling that was involved; there had been a few hits from his wife’s handbag as well. His daughter was still preoccupied by her phone. The only one who seemed to want to be swallowed by the floor was his son. Donald was never wrong it seemed.

 

“Quiet!” Joel commanded and everyone settled at once. “The deeds to the farm, that is close to 10.000 acres if anyone is at all interested,” he was not above sarcasm after all, “will remain in our firm’s hands until Connor Riley Jr. comes of age, in which time it will be signed off to him. That will be all, thank you.”

 

The dismissal was clear and given the fact that they had seen what happened when Duncan had to intervene they made their exit peacefully but not before Junior mouthed a ‘Thank you’ with such relief in his eyes that made Joel’s heart break a little more.

 

He felt someone hovering above and a glass of whiskey found its way to his hand. Joel smiled warmly at Jake. “Thank you.” Jake returned the smile with a nod and a barely there touch at his shoulder.

 

“Is he here?” He asked Maggie after a few sips.

 

“He’s waiting outside but he has one foot out the door already.”

 

Joel nodded. “Bring him in.”

 

 

Patrick Timothy Kane the second was the one most closely resembling his grandfather, Joel noticed, and not just in his facial features if rumours were true; headstrong, defiant and bull-headed; both cut from the same cloth, or so it seemed. Joel had a hidden hope it really wasn’t so. His research on him had revealed quite a few things that didn’t add up to the image he was putting forward.

 

Donald didn’t believe in regrets but the man opposite of Joel was the only one his once benefactor allowed himself. He felt he had wronged him and though Donald Kane was never one for feelings Joel knew Patrick had held a special place in the old man’s heart or at the very least in his plans for the future of his empire.

 

Stopping Patrick’s self-destructive path had been the only thing to make Donald want to fight his illness, but the sheer force of his will just hadn’t been enough. So, he had tasked Joel to right those wrongs on his behalf and Joel was determined to do so, provided Patrick would prove worthy.

 

“Can we just be done already?” Patrick asked impatiently for the third time. “I don’t even see the point of me being here. I doubt Donald would spare a thought on me.”

 

Joel winced. Those words would have cut Donald deep if he was alive but he couldn’t really blame the boy. “I would assure you that you are gravely mistaken but I don’t think it would change anything.” He didn’t wait for a reaction. Instead, he opened his drawer and placed a box and a sealed envelope on the table. “Does it seem to you that either of these items had been tampered with?”

 

Patrick examined the envelope and turned his gaze to the box. He slouched a bit and cleared his throat. “What’s in the box?” he asked in a bad attempt to channel his inner Brad Pitt.

 

Joel bit the inside of his cheek to stop the laughter it was threatening to escape. He just gave Patrick a dead stare instead.

 

“Tough crowd.” Patrick huffed.

 

“Are you satisfied with the condition of the seals?” Joel insisted.

 

Patrick shrugged. “Yeah, they’re fine. Whatever.”

 

“Therefore witness this day that I am breaking the seal affixed in my presence by Donald himself.” Joel lay the envelope on the table again, unlocked the box and retrieved a DVD he mutely handed off to Maggie.

 

The wall screen suddenly came to life with the face of Donald plastered all over it. Patrick’s treasonous heart jumped at the sight for a few seconds before he willed himself to settle down. The man deserved nothing of that muscle anymore.

 

“Well, if you’re watching this it means I’m dead.” TV Donald said and Patrick huffed. That’s just great; an ‘if you’re reading this’ letter in digital form. How progressive.

 

“I hope you’re having a better day than me but I highly doubt it. Interacting with my family is always taxing and most definitely never rewarding.

 

Patrick, I have made a lot of mistakes in my life, especially with my family but I never regretted my past actions because they were the ones that made me who I am.  My only regret was hurting you and you never given me the chance to understand how. I thought a lot about how I could make it up to you but there wasn’t enough time.”

 

Patrick made a pfft noise in disgust. _Not enough time, my ass_ ; he thought bitterly, _try you_ _didn’t give a fuck instead._

 

He missed a couple of the words that were spoken but the next few he heard loud and clear. “So, I finally realised that in death I could make amends by not giving you anything…”

 

Patrick shook his head. _Typical. Here Patrick, have nothing and be grateful because that’s my apology. Asshole!_

“at least not yet.” Video Donald continued. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, about how to give you something only to let it ruin you like it did my sons, even some of your cousins. So I want to give you a gift – a series of gifts to be precise- leading up to what I’d like to call ‘the ultimate gift’. Now, you fail in any way, it’s all over. You get nothing. And everything you do must be to Joel’s satisfaction. You might want to make friends with him sooner than later.”

 

There was a click of a button and the screen turned black. Patrick saw Joel fumble with something under the desk and found it was the best opportunity to size him up. He looked a lot older than Patrick remembered but not nearly enough for a man quickly approaching sixty. Even his hair was still mostly black with a few grey hairs scattered around like random splashes on a painting.

 

He was still taller than Patrick but so was mostly everyone but he did seem like he had lost weight over the years, leaving him tethering the line between well built and muscular. He did notice a wedding ring on his finger that hadn’t been there before. Considering that for a man his age he could be considered very handsome, it didn’t surprise Patrick that someone had snatched him up.

 

Patrick himself had been awe-struck the first time he met him. He could never forget it. He hadn’t been more than fifteen and was visiting Donald. His grandfather was fetching the chess board and Patrick had taken his place on the table beside the pool when an approaching middle age status Joel had risen from the water like some Greek God; all tan skin and firm muscles. It had taken Patrick the whole afternoon to decide if he was envious of his body or thirsty for it.

 

Someone cleared their throat and brought Patrick back to the present. “Mr. Kane, I’m Maggie Fowler, Mr. Manche’s associate.” The short, brunette woman introduced herself. Her silver hair was neatly tucked in a high bun and her round figure and warm voice would have tricked anyone into believing she was the jolly grandmother of their favourite fairy tale. Her business suit and expressionless face would have crushed that dream in an instance.

 

She handed him something that looked like a phone case. “This is a voice-activated Conversay. It allows two-way communication between our office and you and you can also replay Donald’s messages on it if you need to.” She explained without being prompted.

 

She handed the second item she was holding to Joel.

 

“Great. There’s a bus ticket to Alden tomorrow at 6:00 am.”

 

Patrick choked on his spit. “6:00 as in the ass crack of dawn?”

 

“Precisely. You have until then to accept.” Joel’s calm responses were getting on Patrick’s nerves.

 

“Accept what? And what in the hell should I do in Alden? I have a flight to Chicago to catch in the afternoon.”

 

“Mr. Kane, if you choose to accept your grandfather’s gifts I’m afraid that returning to Chicago isn’t an option.”

 

“Fuck you!” Patrick spat. “I don’t have to take orders from a dead asshole, not from you either.”

 

“You might want to rethink your attitude, Mr. Kane if you wish to gain something from all of this.” Joel cautioned him in a stern tone.

 

“Gain what? What can I possible gain that won’t be taken away from me again? What can he give me now that he couldn’t when it still mattered?” Patrick could feel the tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction. “Fuck him,” he gestured towards the black screen “and fuck you, too.”

 

He turned his back and rushed out of there with no other words. He knew if he spoke again his voice would crack and the dam would break. Patrick didn’t have much left but he could at least keep his dignity.

 

 

***

 

 

Patrick’s phone went off as he was swallowing the last bite of his burger. He didn’t have the strength to deal with anyone, let alone Tom who had been pushing for more on the benefits side than the friends one lately, but he knew he wouldn’t stop calling if he didn’t answer.

“Hey, Tom.”

 

“Hey, babe” God Patrick hated when he called him that, “how was your day?” The sugary sweet tone bothered him. It felt forced, as if pet names and a few honey-laced words would bump him up to boyfriend status.

 

“I’m not sure.” Patrick replied honestly.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“My grandfather might have left me something. I’m just trying to figure out what exactly.”

 

“Money, right?” The glee in his voice was anything but concealed.

 

“Don’t know. If I want to play into his power trip, I have to go to Alden.”

 

“Who’s Alden?” Tom’s voice had a jealous, possessive edge that Patrick found irritating.

 

“Tone it down, Tom, we’ve talked about this.” Patrick reminded him. “And it’s a place not a person.”

 

“Ok, sorry.” Tom gave an insincere apology that was obvious even through the phone. “So, where is that? And aren’t you coming back to Chicago?” The last words were a whine.

 

“It’s near Buffalo, just sort of two hours maybe, but I’m not going. I’m coming home.”

 

“Aren’t you curious, though?”

 

Patrick’s anger was stronger than any curiosity he might have. “Who gives a fuck?”

 

There was an awkward silence, and then Tom spoke again.  “What if it’s…gold or something?”

 

Patrick laughed, genuinely for the first time in what seemed ages. “I seriously doubt it but even if it is I don’t care. The man took off and...” He cut himself short. He wasn’t going to spill his guts to Tom of all people.  “Why should I give him what he wants? My best revenge is to… ignore him. I don’t need his money. I’ve got the trust-fund my grandma set up.”

 

The trust-fund had come late in Patrick’s life, after all the damage had been done but it was what had saved him in the end.

 

“The best revenge would be getting as much out of him as you can. He owes you that.” Tom finally said passionately as if he were privy to all the information that would allow him to be offended in Patrick’s behalf. “What if the fund isn’t enough? What if… what if you have to get a job?” The horror in his voice was hilarious. At twenty five, Tom was still living off of his daddy.

 

Patrick didn’t want to crush his rich boy dreams and tell him he already had a job and not the kind Tom was used to where he held a title in his daddy’s company and never actually showed up. He had managed to keep that part of his life hidden from everyone. It helped that crunching numbers could be done from anywhere. The less anyone knew about him the better and Tom already knew more than enough.

 

Patrick couldn’t help but wonder though, if maybe he did have a point. He was owed a lot indeed and it was probably the best opportunity for him to collect that debt.

 

Maybe the greatest justice would be revenge.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 


	2. (the gift of work)

 

 

 

Patrick arrived at the bus station in the nick of time, semi-dishevelled with sleep deprivation written all over him. Mrs. Fowler’s disapproval was etched in her tight lips and the slight frown in her otherwise stony demeanour.

 

Patrick snatched the ticket off her hands and gave it a look of contempt. He felt Mrs. Fowler’s huff more than heard it. The warm gush of air made the hair in his neck stand attention. He hid his own satisfied smirk under a dry coughing sound.

 

The truth was, Patrick was used to buses. He had been on one ever since he was 7 years old and his father saw a goldmine in his son’s hands. The world forgot of course, so Patrick had to live up to his new persona- that of the spoiled rich kid who looked down on anything worth less than an average monthly salary as a starting price.

 

What no one knew was that Patrick hoarded money like a dragon would his precious gold. Even with the trust-fund and his cash-only paid salary, he still didn’t feel secure enough. His computer had numerous password locked files of list upon list of charts and a carefully balanced budget which allowed him to appear reckless in spending without actually having to waste his hard earned cash.

 

Patrick has had many secrets throughout the years but that one he would die to protect. So he scrunched his nose and feign distaste at anything less than glamorous, he decorated his neck with gold chains (that were anything but real gold-but fake masterpieces) and wore clothes that seem to cost a fortune when in reality his whole wardrobe cost less than what the average person would pay for Starbucks coffee in a month.  Living on the streets for whatever amount of time got him in bed with a lot of interesting fellows and allowed him to pull the longest con ever. Lo and behold Patrick Timothy Kane the second, master of disguise and false appearance. 

 

He scowled at the kid who ate the chocolate bar like he hadn’t eaten anything since the Great Depression and huffed annoyingly at the old lady who spent forty-five minutes explaining to the man next to her all the intricate details of the Halloween costumes she was in the process of making for her grandchildren. It was better than the heartbreaking look he was otherwise going to wear for never truly enjoying something so openly or being loved that much or even at all.

 

He was almost relieved when he made it to his stop because the dopey love struck smile of the teenager two rows in front every time she got a text notification and her excitement at sharing it with her friend it about killed him with longing.

 

Alden, he found, at first glance hadn’t changed all that much from what he remembered even if too many years had passed from his last visit. He remembered Donald taking him to Spring Creek to collect pyritized fossils and then to the hockey rink where he tried to convince him that both activities were one and the same; a hobby.

 

Where his father saw dollar bills, his grandfather saw time wasted. Men were made for work and hockey was a child’s play.

 

“Broad shoulders but narrow hips; if you were a brood mare you’d be useless.” A hard, growly voice exclaimed from somewhere behind him, making him jump.

 

His hand involuntarily made its way to his heart but Patrick stopped it mid-way; no signs of weakness must be shown. Another one of his mottos. He found he had a lot of those.

 

Trying to school his features he turned around and came face to face with a short, plump man, with white hair under a cowboy hat and a red face. “You on the other hand,” he gave the man the once-over “must have at least five calves waiting for you at home.”

 

The man let out full-belly laughter, making his face appear even redder. “You’re funny.” The man said as soon as his howling turned into soft huffs. “Donald always said you were quick-witted.”

 

At the mention of his grandfather, every muscle of his body turned rigid. “Who are you?” he questioned, squinting his eyes in distrust.

 

The man tapped the brim of his hat twice. “Name’s Bill and I’m your ride.”

 

“Ride? I thought you were delivering a gift.”

 

The man laughed again, grating on Patrick’s last nerve. He took Patrick’s duffle bag and started walking towards a truck. With no other choice, Patrick followed.

 

The small truck cabin sure packed a huge amount of awkward tension for most of the ride, until Bill cleared his throat. “Sorry about your grandfather,” he offered his condolences, his voice cracking at the last syllable, “he was a good man.”

 

The snort left Patrick’s mouth all on its own but he made no attempt to hide it either. He continued looking out of the window even though he could feel Bill’s eyes staring.

 

“Never said he was an easy one,” Bill tried again, “strict and hard sure, stubborn as a mule and worked as a horse, but underneath it all he had a good heart.”

 

The only answer to that was another snort, answered by a deep sigh from Bill. No one talked after that.

 

Patrick got lost to the scenery; all a jumble of rocks and greenery but nothing else in sight for miles and miles.

 

The first sign of a building was what Patrick knew to be a livery stable. Donald had one on his farm for some time until he got bored of housing other people’s horses and bought his own. That’s who his grandfather was; bigger and better, the American way.

 

Next there were some fields in the horizon but not close enough for him to recognise what was in them and then they came face to face with a two-story farmhouse, straight out of Gone with the Wind, with a wrap-around porch that looked like someone had transported from the 1870’s South.

 

Patrick could do nothing but stare in awe. Not that he knew much about architecture but the building was gorgeous, almost otherworldly.

 

“You’ll be staying here; got the room and all.” Bill threw the duffle bag at Patrick’s feet and gestured towards the house. “Door’s through there; room’s on the second floor, third door to the right. Dinner’s in an hour, settle until then. Breakfast is at five; miss that and you have to wait till noon to have a bite.”

 

Bill turned his back while Patrick tried to process all the information. “Hey, wait.” He called, “What about the gift?”

 

The only answer he got was another burst of loud laughter.

 

 

**

 

 

Patrick hated to admit it, even to himself, but that had been the best sleep he had in a while. He wasn’t sure if it was the mattress, that felt what he imagined would have been like if sleeping in a cloud, the pillow, that was soft and fluffy and very huggable indeed, or the very warm, colourful quilt that definitely looked like it had been made with care and precision; though if he were a betting man his money would be on the absence of sound, nothing more than a few whispers from the light breeze.

 

It had taken him a long time to make peace with the quiet, having been parted from it for so long in Chicago, but it always calmed his mind, his too many thoughts battling in his head refusing to let him settle.

 

That was the reason he groaned and moaned when Bill had come to wake him at four thirty in the morning; the disturbance of his peace. In a childish revenge, he had spent breakfast making a disgusted face while smelling the eggs, had found the sausages hard to chew, had complaint about the lack of a decent cup of coffee, and even commented about the sub-par quality of the toasted bread. In between giving his review, he had managed to leave the table wholly satisfied.

 

His luck though had just run out, it seemed.

 

“I used to work for him, you know.” Bill said out of the blue, while driving them to wherever the hell it was they were going. “Just seventeen short as a stump, skinny as a straw, and green as grass. Made no difference to him. Took me under his wing, taught me everything I know.”

 

Patrick listened because he had no other choice, dug his nail in his palm to feel like he was in control, him causing himself pain and no one else, and grinded his teeth so as not to shout himself hoarse for Bill to fucking shut up.

 

“Then, on the day he sold the livery, he handed me my duffle bag already packed, shoved me into his pick-up truck and left me in this muddy piece of land that had nothing but a quickly deteriorating shack, with no word spoken whatsoever.”

 

Now that, did indeed sound like his grandfather. Abandoning asshole. What Patrick couldn’t figure out was the warmth that was still evident in Bill’s voice.

 

“It took me four days to find it.” Bill continued, chuckling and shaking his head at what Patrick assumed was a funny part of the story though he had failed to see the hilarity in any of this. “I had to eat the canned beans and the rusks and change my clothes twice to find it.”Bill paused again, as if to keep the anticipation building. Patrick just wanted him to be done already.

 

“A small, white envelop holding my future. A bank account card and the deeds to the property in my name! I didn’t even know I wasn’t getting paid full salary; I had a roof over my head, food and clothes and I got to work with horses and that was as far as I dared to dream. But not Donald. Donald ... He dreamt enough for all of us.”

 

Patrick swallowed around the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. “Was there a point to the story?”

 

Bill stopped the car and turned the engine off. He looked at him mutely and Patrick couldn’t help but feel like a fish in a tank, under scrutiny. Bill sighed and shook his head. “Never mind.” He said at last. “Let’s go.”

 

Patrick followed the man out of the truck and into a vast, empty field. The only things there were a shovel and a few piles of posts. Bill took the shovel and started digging. When he was done, he picked a post and set it to the hole with a twisting motion. He pushed some dirt around it with the tip of his boot, and then wiped his hands on his jeans. “Go from here; eight feet from the centre.” He said and turned to leave.

 

“So this is it? That’s the gift? A damn piece of land in the middle of nowhere?” Patrick yelled at his back “and I even have to build the damn shack myself? This is bullshit!”

 

Bill laughed at him again and Patrick could swear he could feel his blood pressure hitting the roof. “Is this fucking funny to you?”

It seemed that the more Patrick yelled, the more Bill laughed. “Hilarious!” the old man managed to reply between whizzes of air. “Lunch will be sent at noon.” And with that, he got into the trunk and drove away.

Patrick started kicking at the ground, frustrated. The only things he managed were to make his leg hurt and cause himself to have a coughing fit from the dust that was now dancing all around him. He gathered all the air he could in his lungs and let it all out in an agonizing cry.

In the end, he didn’t see much choice so he started digging. Measurements he could do, calluses he could deal with, but by the tenth post or so, his left wrist started to hurt. He clenched his teeth and worked through the pain. He didn’t stop until lunch arrived.

He waited until the worker left, and then drank a few gulps of water, spilling the rest of it on his aching wrist. Having nothing else, he used the cloth the bread had come in and wrapped it around it. He half-heartedly ate his lunch, all the while thinking that he would absolutely kill for a pain pill.

As if his day wasn’t shit enough, Tom decided to call again. “Hey, babe. So what did you get?”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “A bunch of calluses and a fucking headache.” He grumped. He made no mention of his wrist because he knew Tom would push once again about the story behind the surgical scars.

“Were you partying without me?” Tom hissed more an accusation than a question.

“Yes, Tom, me and old Bill had a massive orgy in the horse stable that even the ancient Greeks would envy.” He deadpanned.

He heard Tom spatter and choke on the other end of the line. “Wha.. You... What?”

Patrick ran his hand through his hair, wincing at the pain and sighed. “Look, Tom, I’m tired and cranky and have no energy for this, ok?”

“Oh, Ok.” Tom deflated. “So... you were joking, right?”

Patrick felt the vein in his forehead pop. “Yes, Tom, I was fucking kidding, happy?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Tom replied sheepishly. “Uhm, so... the gift?”

Patrick just gave up; he didn’t have the strength to fight it any longer. “I don’t know yet. Something to do with land, posts and a whole fucking lot of dirt.” 

“So, it must be the land, right? They’re giving it to you?” Tom sure did seem to love making inquires.

“Land’s got something to do with it but I. Don’t. Know.” He emphasized the last words, just in case it made it easier for Tom to understand because it seemed like he couldn’t get a clue.

“And when the thing with the land-“

Patrick cut him off before he could even finish. “Sounds like you’re really invested in my inheritance, Tom. Should I be worried you’re after my money?”

That did the trick and Tom burst into laughter. “Oh, babe, you’re so funny. You know I have a whole lot more of my own.” Patrick didn’t point out that Tom had shit in his name, just daddy’s credit card; it wasn’t his business anyway. “Besides, we both know I want you for your body and your wicked ways.” Tom’s voice had lowered an octave at that, probably trying for sexy but missed the mark.

Patrick shook his head. “Yeah, we all know my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.” Before Tom could give a response, he quickly added, “Look, I have to go now. Talk to you later” and swiped end call.

He buried his face between his palms and groaned. This had been the day from Hell and it wasn’t even halfway over yet. Patrick dreaded to think what the rest of his time there would be like.

 

*

 

Patrick spent the next four days setting posts and Bill tearing them off. On the fifth day, Bill ripped just half of them and by the middle of the following week left Patrick just... be.

On his third week, his wrist finally gave up on him. No amount of pain killers or ice packs could stop the swelling. Patrick needed anti-inflammatory medication and maybe a damn brace. He had to swallow his pride and ask Bill for a ride to the pharmacy.

He made his way downstairs and straight to the kitchen. The table had been already set like always but Bill wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Patrick sat down and poured himself a glass of water. Even the smallest of motion, like popping the pill in his mouth had him wincing.

A loud gasp and the shuttering of glass sounded behind him, startling him and making him choke mid-swallow.

“Dear God, what happened to you, you poor child?” A honey-dipped voice full of genuine concern asked.

Patrick turned his head around. The first thing he saw was a mess on the floor; spilt coffee and a broken pot. The second... a pair of brown, fuzzy slippers. The feet that wore them danced between the messes, as if in a pirouette, to get to his side.

A mop of curly, white hair tickled his cheek, as a round, wrinkled face etched with worry stared at his hand. The woman, whoever she was, gasped once again at the sight. Patrick felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny and had to fight the urge to hide his hand away.

The woman opened her mouth but the voice that was heard was definitely not hers.

“What the hell happened here?” Bill boomed. Patrick couldn’t see him but he could picture his flaming face clearly. “Honey, get away from there.” Bill continued, voice, all of a sudden, going softer.

The woman jolted back as if she were pulled. The next thing Patrick saw was an outraged Bill scream in his face. “What the hell did you do?” he accused.

Indignation burning him, Patrick hardened his face ready to defend himself. Suddenly, what Patrick guessed was a dish towel, came down on Bill’s shoulder with a loud thwack. “What the hell did _you_ do to this boy, you brute?”

For once, Patrick and Bill shared a similar startled expression. “I – I didn’t – What?” Bill sounded all kinds of confused with a sprinkle of hurt.

“Sit your butt down, Bill Grayson and not another peep out of you.”

To Patrick’s surprise, Bill did just that. He took the chair next to Patrick quietly and sat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What happened, honey?” She asked. It took a moment for Patrick to realise she was talking to him. Hearing the endearment, something in his chest started to hurt, like a soft hand delicately squeezing him from the inside. “Uhm... I...” Patrick took a deep breath. “It’s an old injury.” He finally admitted. He turned his hand slowly, palm up, “surgery and a couple of screws.”

“I – I didn’t know.” Bill said, almost in a whisper. “I didn’t-“

“Hush!” The woman commanded and this time Patrick did feel bad. He wasn’t going to let Bill take the fall, no matter how much he did not like the guy.

“It’s not his fault. Really.” He reassured. “It’s not a big deal. You don’t need to concern yourself Mrs-“Patrick paused. He still had no idea who the lady was.

A deep sigh was heard and the woman took a seat on Pat’s other side. “Name’s Susan Grayson, honey. And that damn idiot over there is my husband.” She explained, all the while glaring daggers at Bill.

“Nice to meet you, madam.”

Susan lifted her hand and caressed Patrick’s hair softly making Patrick’s whole body freeze. A deadly silence covered the kitchen for what seemed like forever. Then Susan sat up abruptly and enveloped Patrick in a tight hug. Patrick felt like he turned into stone right then and there.

“Oh, honey.” Susan’s voice cracked and her hands tightened around him. The angle was weird; even crouched down she was still towering over him and her ample bosom was squeezed by his shoulder, making everything even more awkward. Yet, a small voice inside him told him it felt nice.

It ended as abruptly as it started, with Susan resuming her position in her chair. She straightened her blouse, dark brown and so soft as Patrick had noticed. “Well, now, what do you need?”

“Mrs. Grayson-“

“Told you the name is Susan, honey.”

Patrick nodded. “Susan. I just – If there’s a pharmacy nearby- an anti-inflammatory and...” he winced, being hard for him to admit it, “and maybe a brace.”

Susan nodded and made a head gesture towards Bill, probably to get him in on that. “But it can wait until lunch.” Patrick hastily informed. “I should have been in the fields half an hour ago.”

“There’s no way you’re going out there again!” Susan sounded horrified. “Tell him Bill!”

Patrick saw Bill ready to reply but he cut him off. “Mrs. Gray- Susan, I appreciate the concern and I don’t mean to offend but I’d rather be done with it.”

“But your hand.” Susan insisted. “You can’t possibly work in that state.”

Patrick shrugged. “Done it before. It’s fine.” That’s how he ended up on the operating table a second time. And a third.

“Patrick, maybe you should-“Bill finally interjected but Patrick shook his head vehemently.

“I just want to be done with it. I want to go home.”

Susan and Bill must have had a silent conversation over his head because they both got up at the same time. Patrick didn’t know where they went but it must have been somewhere close because he could make out hushed whispers.

He never knew what was said either but when they came back, Susan was holding a mop and Bill had gestured for Patrick to follow him. They drove to the field in silence and when lunch arrived so did the things that he needed.

 

*

 

Patrick worked in the field one more week. He and Bill rarely spoke but whenever he looked at him, Bill’s eyes were filled with guilt. Susan, on the other hand, all but adopted him. She told him all about where she had been during most of his stay, showed him pictures of her newest grandbaby (she apparently already had three) and fed him every chance she got. Patrick never shared back and she never pushed.

As much of a relief as it was to be done to his surprise Patrick found it hard to say goodbye to her. As he was leaving the house, they both held each other a little tighter at that last hug and for the first time, Patrick returned the kiss.

Nearing the bus stop, Bill spoke “You know... you did good.”

Patrick remained silent but was a little ticked at the slight surprise he detected behind the words. “If you do any work like you just did...” Bill went on, “you can do anything.”

Patrick dug his nails on his thigh so hard that even through his jeans he felt the sting. Still, he said nothing.

It was a blessing that the ride was short. Bill handed him his duffle bag and gave him a pat on the back. “Good luck.” He said.

Patrick frowned. “Aren’t you forgettin’ something?”

Bill’s bushy eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. “Don’t think so.”

“The gift?” Patrick clarified.

Bill opened his mouth then promptly closed it. Then he tried again but nothing came out.

Patrick started feeling worried. “Well?”

“That was it.” Bill exhaled loudly.

Patrick’s ears buzzed. “What do you mean?”

“The gift. That was it.” Bill deadpanned.

“What was?” Patrick more croaked than asked.

“You being here.”

“There has to be a mistake.” Patrick screeched. “Something you didn’t get right.”

Bill shook his head but Patrick was having none of it. He pulled out Maggie’s phone thingy and dialled.

“Mr. Kane,” Manche’s booming voice greeted him. “Is there a problem?”

“Bet your ass there is.”

“Now, Mr. Kane, there’s no reason for such language.” The lawyer chastised.

“Really? Because I beg to differ! I spent a month sticking posts in the fucking dirt! I fucked up my hand for fuck’s sake and this ... this man,” Patrick turned the Conversay screen so that the lawyer could see Bill, “fucking refuses to give me the fucking gift.”

“Mr. Kane that’s just not possible.” Manche sounded confused. “If indeed you finished your appointed task by Mr. Grayson you have already received your gift.”

“I did!” Patrick exclaimed. “I fucking did! I stuck the fucking posts in the fucking mud and I made the fucking fence! Fucking ask him yourself!” Patrick turned the screen once again.

“Mr. Grayson?” Manche questioned.

Patrick glared at Bill but the man paid no attention to him. “He did sir.”

“And was it to your satisfaction?”

Bill looked Patrick straight in the eyes. “More than, sir.”

“Then I don’t understand.” Manche stated.

“Oh. My. God.” Patrick enunciated every syllable. “He didn’t give me the gift! How hard is it for you to understand?”

“Mr. Kane,” the lawyer paused long enough for Patrick to look at the screen, “that was your gift.”

“WHAT WAS?” Patrick was almost certain there was a grand conspiracy here trying to make him lose his mind.

 “The gift of work.” It was Bill who spoke.

Patrick jerked his head around, glowering at him, then again towards the screen where Joel just nodded his head in confirmation.

Patrick saw red. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted, not caring who might hear, still looking between the two men.

“Your grandfather thought-“Bill tried to explain but Patrick was done listening.

“Fuck you, fuck the lawyer and fuck my grandfather!” Patrick couldn’t believe this shit. “He knew fuck all about me ‘cause he fucked off and left me to the vultures! I have been working my ass off since I was seven years old! You want to know hard work? Try years of running suicides, drills and plays in an ice rink till you’re out of breath and even your blisters have blisters! Then lift weights till you can’t even raise your hands to tuck yourself in at night because they were that numb! And wake up to do it all again while a fucking useless asshole had told you if you worked harder than that you could do anything! Fuck you, Bill, and fuck your fucking benefactor!”

At the end of Patrick’s rant all eyes were on him and everyone was speechless; Bill, the lawyer, even the half a dozen people at the entrance of the bus station.

Patrick paid no mind to anyone but his trembling hands. He was almost certain his whole body was vibrating. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the tears pooling in his eyes from falling. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

Someone cleared their throat. “Mr. Ka-, Patrick,” Manche’s soft voice was like a stab to Patrick’s heart. Great! Here comes the pity! “We- I-“it was evident Joel was struggling for words “I know it might not seem fair but your grandfather ... your grandfather didn’t consider that work.”

And did Patrick not know that already!  “As such, he thought that this ‘gift’ would be beneficial to you. Now, I understand that you are upset so I will let you catch your bus. Take a few days to recover and if you wish to continue with the gifts, please make an appointment with Mrs. Fowler.”

Did Patrick really want to? If the rest of the ‘gifts’ were like this one, he doubt it.

“Patrick?” Mr. Manche called to get his attention.

Patrick looked at the screen and just nodded his understanding. “For what is worth...” the lawyer said, “I would love to hear from you again.”

Patrick disconnected the call.

 

 

***

 


	3. (the gift of friendship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak French but I did some research that wasn't Google translate. I hope it came close to what I was aiming for. For the English translation, just hover over the French text.

_So, that’s what it feels like_ , Patrick thought, _selling your soul to the Devil_ ; _reliving your worst nightmare over and over again._

“Please,” he begged the Hispanic man in charge of the crew, “you can’t do this.” His voice cracked and for once he didn’t even care.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kane,” the man said for the tenth time, “but there’s really nothing I can do. You should try contacting Mr. Manche one last time.” _Before I take your phone as well_ was left unsaid.

Patrick had been trying to do just that, in between panicking, as soon as the men arrived and started packing up his apartment. So far, he had no luck.

In a rare moment of clarity in his current state, he remembered the Conversay he hadn’t used since he left Alden. With trembling fingers, he made the call.

Maggie’s voice echoed in the empty apartment after the fourth ring. “Hello, Patrick.”

Patrick let relief wash through him. “Mrs. Fowler! Maggie!” He screamed in despair, dropping all courtesies and using the woman’s name. “Thank God! Look what they did, Maggie,” he turned the screen so she could see the state of his place and felt his panic rise again; “they’ve packed everything up, Maggie. Everything! My wallet, my clothes, the furniture, the appliances, even the damn pasta strainer! They cleared out my house, Maggie. Please, do something!” He wasn’t sure if the always proper and stern Mrs. Fowler would be capable of showing sympathy but he was desperate.

Maggie’s face actually softened at his pleas but the regret in her eyes was the only sign Patrick needed to know what would come next. “I’m sorry Patrick but I can’t. It’s all part of your grandfather’s plan for you.”

Hopelessness enveloped him. “But I can’t do this, Maggie. Not again. Please. They’re throwing me out on the streets,” he could feel his tears falling but he had no room for pride here. “You don’t know what’s that like Maggie. Please, you have to do something. You have to ---“ Patrick had no more air left in his lungs, no more words to utter; to be honest he didn’t have much of anything anymore.

“Patrick!” Maggie’s voice sounded desperate as he called his name from somewhere far away and if Patrick could, he would laugh. He had made the Ice Queen melt by losing his own cool. If he was all there in his head, he’d fist bump. “Patrick, please come down. Take deep breaths for me, please.”

That he knew. He’d heard it before; and just like that, everything made sense. He started using all his usual tricks. He closed his eyes, putting his hand on his thigh feeling the familiar texture of his jeans and started taking deep breaths. Weirdly enough, Maggie’s voice helped as well. Or maybe it were her final words that did it.

“We can call the whole thing off if you need to, Patrick, I promise.” She said. “No amount of money is worth this.”

Patrick opened his eyes to look at Maggie and shook his head vehemently. He wouldn’t let the bastards win. He was stronger than that. He had survived once before. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. I don’t care. They’re not getting a penny out of me ever again.”

“I- I don’t... “Maggie seemed confused, not that he blamed her. She paused probably expecting some kind of explanation but he gave none. “Ok, Patrick, ok. Whatever you want just... are you sure you’re alright?”

Patrick nodded. “What do I have to do?”

“You can watch your grandfather’s next message in the Conversay as soon as we hang up.” Maggie informed him.

“Ok, then. I’ll let you go.” He put his fingers to disconnect the call but Maggie stopped him.

“Patrick?”

“Yeah?”

“You can- If you need something, anything, call me please. _If_ I can help, I will.”

If Patrick said he wasn’t touched by the offering he’d lie. He just nodded and pressed the red button.

 

*

 

 _“You don’t begin to live until you’ve lost everything.”_ Video Donald said. “ _Hell, I’ve lost everything once or twice myself. It’s the perfect place to start_.”

 _Been there, done that you fucking asshole_ , Patrick thought bitterly.

“ _Now, for most of your life you have been wasting money away. You burned through what little you made from that hobby of yours that I had to supply you with more.  That trust of yours? I bet you’ve figured it by now. All mine! Your grandmother, God rest her soul, didn’t have a penny to her name. And what did you do with it? Drank it away, living the high life with your poor excuse of companions. Now let’s see who your real friends are.”_

 

Patrick clutched the device in his palm so hard that for a moment he thought he had broken it. “Fuck you and the high horse you rode on, you poor excuse for a human! More than $900.000 you son of a bitch! That was what my little hobby earned me! I had made something of myself with no help from you, you arrogant prick! I wouldn’t have needed your charity if it weren’t for...”

He couldn’t. Even now, he couldn’t get the words out. He dialled Maggie instead. “What does he want me to do?” He asked as soon as she answered.

“He wants you to come back at the end of the month...with one true friend.”

“Did he even know what that was? Every single one of his ‘friends’ were on his payroll.” Not that Patrick had any of those either but at least he never claimed he did. “Don’t bother answering. Doesn’t matter anyway. See you at the end of the month.”

Patrick pocketed the device, took a last look at his empty apartment and went to find the one person he had been trying so hard to avoid.

 

*

 

Patrick didn’t have any trouble finding Tom; he was a creature of habit after all. Patrick had met him in ‘The Hole’, a sleazy basement bar with a snippy bartender and an affinity for leather-wearing or shirtless patrons.

Patrick had never been in the lifestyle, he had just stumbled into it a particularly rough night searching for somewhere to crawl and drink his sorrows away and maybe punish himself a bit for having been such a fool. Tom had been hiding away from prying eyes, young and new and afraid of not being discreet per his father’s request.

For Patrick it was always a last resort, kept only for his lowest moments. Tom, on the other hand, got sucked into the whole vibe willingly. The wilder it got the better for him. Soon enough it became like a second home because it gave him the control he lacked in every other aspect of his life.

When Patrick had felt brave enough to try putting his life back together, he never stepped foot anywhere near it. The only reminder of the time was Tom, for that part deep inside Patrick that was still afraid to hope he had really broken free.

Being back there now, in his current homeless state, was like a dip back in the black abyss that used to be his life. Fortunately for him, Tom was already there and that gave Patrick a glimmer of hope that his descend in hell would be short lived.

“Babe!” Tom yelled when he caught sight of him. By the blatant leer and staggering, Patrick gathered he had been drinking for a while. Maybe the whole thing had been a bad idea. Inebriated Tom was that much more clingy and demanding.

Tom pulled him in a tight hug, his hand groping and squeezing Patrick’s ass the moment their bodies collided. “You’re back! Oh, babe I missed you!” He slurred right into the shell of Patrick’s ear trying and failing to entice him with what had obvious been an attempt to arouse him.

Patrick put both of his palms on Tom’s chest and gave him a push; not a harsh one but with enough force to put some distance between them. Tom frowned and tried to get closer. “Hey, can we talk?” He asked.

Tom’s frown deepened but Patrick pushed his lower lip in a pout and said “Please.” He’d hate himself later for this but morality and harsh times never went hand in hand in Patrick’s experience.

Tom’s frown was immediately replaced by a bright smile but his eyes darkened with hunger. Patrick was saved from being dragged to the bathroom by Tom’s drinking buddies hollering for him. “Come on, babe, let’s get a drink with the boys.”

Patrick shook his head. “It’s really important. Can we...go somewhere quieter?” At the first sight of Tom’s blown pupils, Patrick realised he had to clarify his intentions quickly.

Tom beat him to the punch. He wrapped himself over Patrick’s smaller frame and bit his earlobe. “Your place, babe. Now!’” He growled.

Patrick felt Tom’s cock starting to fill against the swell of his ass. “We can’t.” He couldn’t blame Tom for freezing. Patrick was certain he had never uttered those words to him before.

He turned around to face him. “That’s why I wanted to talk. They took everything, Tom; the house, the car, my bank card, everything.”

“Who did?”

“My grandfather’s...associates.”

Tom frowned again. “I thought they were supposed to give you money.” He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box even when he was completely sober.

“Not until the end of this... whole thing. It’s all part of Donald’s plan.”

“So what are you gonna do now?” And wasn’t that the million dollar question.

“That’s why I wanted...” Patrick worried his bottom lip between his teeth. It was very hard for him to ask anyone for help. “Can I... Can I stay at your place?”

Tom took a step back, shaking his head, colour draining from his face in an instance. “You can’t! My father -- no, I ...” With every word he put that much more distance between them. Patrick thought he might have mouthed a ‘sorry’ somewhere between all the shaking and shuddering his body was doing, before he turned his back on Patrick and joined his friends who promptly handed him a drink which he downed in one go.

Patrick waited for a few minutes; for what exactly he didn’t know. What he was certain of was that he had finally gotten his wish and had been rid of Tom --

\-- Just when he needed him the most.

 

*

 

Patrick’s hand and voice were anything but steady both while speaking to the collect call operator and waiting for her to patch him through. The phone booth’s doors -and Patrick hadn’t even been sure they still existed but was so relieved they did- seemed to close in on him the longer the ringing went on without the call being answered.

“Patrick?”  His sister’s voice was hesitant and his name on her lips more of a whisper than anything else.

“Yeah... Hey, Jess.” Patrick swallowed hard. “Look, I’m ... I’m having a bit of a situation and I need some help.”

“Look, Patrick, I –“

“No, please, hear me out. I know we haven’t been close but -- just need to borrow some money, it’s really important. I’ll pay you back I swear.” Patrick was desperate. Jessica was his only hope. It had been obvious at the funeral that Erica had been groomed to be the next Tiki and Jackie had always been the baby of the family, loyal only to the people who had always spoiled her.

“Patrick, I would love to help you.” She said and Patrick’s heart fluttered with hope. “But I can’t.” And just like that, hope was once again dead.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I can’t.” If there was any remorse hidden behind the statement, Patrick couldn’t hear it. “Mr. Manche told me that, if you were to call and ask ...I was not to give you anything.”

“But Jess- I’m -- I don’t... I have nothing left.”

“I’m sorry, Patrick, but if I violate their instructions, if anyone of us will, we’re out of everything.” That was her runabout way to inform him not to contact anyone else, not that Patrick would have... but it still hurt. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help you.”

“Yeah, thanks for nothing.” Patrick said bitterly. “I don’t know why I thought this time would be different anyway.”

“Patrick, I’m s --“

Patrick slammed the receiver back to its place. He had no interest in knowing what she was, he already knew what she had never been; there for him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to ever shed another tear for them ever again, zipped up his jacket as high as it could go, took a deep breath and went out to the crisp Chicago air.

At well past midnight, he was aware that all the shelters would have been filled up already so he dragged his feet to the safest place in town he knew.

It seemed that that was the night he would break all the vows he ever made to himself.

 

**

 

It was the feeling of a hard shove that woke Patrick up. He groaned, his whole body aching and blinked furiously for a long while.

“I said get up, you asshole,” a male groggy voice slurred, “you’re in my spot.”

A shiver run through Patrick’s spine and dread filled him. He knew that voice; it had haunted him many nights and had fuelled his work-out drive many a mornings. He took a deep breath, dug deep inside and found the mask that he needed to wear.

All his senses were on alert. He could feel the humidity on his skin, the smell of stale alcohol almost made him choke but what calmed him down a bit was the constant chattering in the background.

“Go crawl back to your hole, Ralphie, and leave me the fuck alone!” His voice sounded steady enough to his own ears and that was better than what he had hoped for.

There was a sharp intake of breath and an even fouler stench hit Patrick’s nose. “Well, well, well... if it isn’t Princess Peek-a-Boo.”

In another life, hearing it from anyone else’s lips, Patrick would have batted his eyelashes and puffed his chest out like a rooster. From Ralph it felt like salt was being poured in still wide open wounds.

“What are you still doing here, Ralphie?” Patrick deflected, “I thought all you snakes hibernate this time of year.”

Raphie hissed and loomed over Patrick, no doubt in an attempt to intimidate him. His face was even more wrinkled than Patrick remembered, with a few new deep cuts on his right side; one on his cheekbone and one just above the eyebrow. A sardonic smile revealed a few more missing teeth, yellowed out with black at the edges, and the greasy grey hair on his head were far and between. Yet his eyes were as hard and cold as ever.

Patrick gave him a hard shove. _Feel the fear, show no fear. That’s how you survive._

Ralphie chuckled, deep and guttural, making Patrick’s skin crawl. “Such filth from such a sweet mouth.” He tsked and his face hardened. “Better watch it, precious, you got no friends this time around.”

“Still more than you, for sure.” Patrick mumbled.

“Always thought you were better than everyone, didn’t you?” Ralph spat, clearly having heard him. “Yet here you are again. Look at you,” he gestures up and down Patrick’s frame “No money. No food. No family. _No friends_. Nothing.”

Antagonizing Ralphie was the dumbest thing, but his words cut deep and Patrick couldn’t hold his tongue in retaliation. “Nice scars, Ralphie,” he slowly run the pad of his finger down his own face, “who did you rat out on this time?”

Ralphie surged forward trying to grab Patrick by the collar of his jacket. With quick reflexes Patrick moved, shoulder first and caught him on the chin, making him stable back enough for Patrick to leap to the other side of the bench, ready to make his escape in the crowded park.

Ralphie was cursing up a storm, rubbing at his chin. “You’re fucking dead, you hear me? Dead!”

“Death threats are not ok.” A small voice somewhere behind Patrick said, trying to sound stern. “Apologize, mister!”

Patrick instinctively stretched his arm out to shield whoever it was that had spoken, afraid to take his eyes off Ralphie even for a second. “Fuck off, kid.” Ralphie growled.

“You’re rude.” The voice said again and Patrick felt pressure on his arm, like someone was trying to cross a barrier.

Ralphie laughed. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, midget?”

Next thing Patrick knew, the pressure eased and a rock came flying from behind him, catching Ralphie right on his left cheekbone.

While Ralph’s eyes got consumed with the red of rage, Patrick’s blood turned ice in his veins. “Run, now!” Patrick whispered as commandingly as he could.

“I can’t.” The voice whimpered behind him. “M not allowed.” It muttered. Patrick could feel the shakes of the little body, now plastered to his back.

Patrick hadn’t felt this kind of fear in years. In this turn of events he was now not only responsible for himself but for that little girl as well; her grip so tight, clinging to him, weirdly gave him a strange sense of security, a grounding he hadn’t felt since his time on the ice. Her fingers an anchor as once had been his gear and his skates. His contemplation on how daunting that was, was abruptly interrupted by the sound of Ralphie yelling “YOU LITTLE SHIT!” pulling him back to the harsh reality.

Patrick realised he had to pull his wild card in order to save them both. “You come any closer Ralphie and you’ll have to answer to Savage.”

At that, as expected, Ralph froze mid-step, eyes widening. “You’re bluffing!” He said, much more timid than he was before.

Patrick crossed his arms, face a blank mask. “Try me. I told you, Ralphie, I still have more friends than you here. What? You thought just because you sent Ghost away we don’t have any reach?”

Ralph cowered back a bit but was still not entirely convinced. “Touch any of us and I’ll make sure not even your cop friends can save you. And don’t think for a second his broken arm will hinder him; he’ll probably use it to bash your skull in with minimum effort.”

All colour drained from Ralphie’s face. Savage’s broken arm was a fairly recent development so there wasn’t any other way for Patrick to be aware of it unless he had been in contact with him and they both knew it.

If he didn’t need to save face, Patrick was sure Ralphie would have left running. Instead, he walked backwards, steel eyes still on Patrick. “We’re not over, Princess Peek-a-Boo. Watch your back!”

Patrick tried to suppress the shudder his venomous tone emitted and remained silent. It would have been unwise to keep poking the snake. Still, he held his ground, body planted at its space and gaze unwavering.

It took a couple of minutes until Ralphie was out of their sight. Then, he felt the little girl pull away. She walked passed him and sat on the bench. It was the first chance he got to see her. She couldn’t have been more than ten, on the skinny side with a complexion that while tan still looked pale; from fear, he gathered.

Finally, he moved in the same direction and slumped back down on the bench as well. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” He screamed at the little girl, his heart still trying to jump out of his chest. “Do you know who that was?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit, kid what were you thinking?”

“Hey, asshole, I was just trying to help!” The girl said indignantly, scrunching up her nose.

“Wow! Language!” He chastised earning himself a cocked eyebrow from the little girl. “Hey, do as I say not as I do.” He shrugged. “What are you even doing here all alone?”

“’M not alone. Papa is here somewhere,” she gestured around, “I got bored.” She shrugged. “He was taking too long on the phone and I saw you and the ...” at that her whole body shivered. “I thought I’d help. You don’t look like a bum, you know.”

Patrick chuckled. “Gee! Thanks.”

“So, how do you know... you know, _him_?”

Patrick bit nervously at his cuticles. “Old...acquaintance, I guess.”

“Why’d he call you that?” The girl asked again. “Princess Peek-a-Boo?” She specified as Patrick seemed confused for a moment.

Patrick scoffed. “To piss me off.”

“You don’t like it? I think it’s kinda cute.”

“And I think you’re a busybody.”

The girl’s green eyes sparkled with mischief, her round face lighting up, two deep dimples popping in each hollow cheek. “Papa says that too. I just think it’s part of my charm.”

Patrick shook his head but couldn’t contain his laughter. “Yes. Yes it is!”

The little girl crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot on the grass impatiently, the buckles in her brown leather boots clinging against the bench legs, cocking her eyebrow once again. Patrick knew she was waiting for an answer. Without really knowing why, he decided to indulge her. “Some...friends used to call me that. Apparently, I looked like a Disney Princess and I was really good at hiding in plain sight.”

The girl cupped her chin in her palm, pointer finger tapping at her nose, eyes raking his frame. Finally, she nodded. “I can see that. Kinda like Rapunzel, just with...less hair.” She said gesturing at the front of her head that was covered by a pink knitted beanie with a brown flower at the side.

Patrick gasped at that, dramatically slapping his palm over his heart. “Ouch!” he said, trying to look wounded making the girl giggle at his silliness.

From the subtle background noise, the agonising cries of a deep male voice suddenly echoed. “Lena! Lena! Lena!”

The little girl on his side cringed and bit her lip as the voice kept getting closer and closer. “I take it that’s you?” Patrick asked.

The little girl nodded. She got up and straightened her pink and brown plaid skirt over her pink tights.

The male body collided with hers so fast Patrick didn’t have a chance to see the man’s face. He couldn’t understand what he was saying either but the anguish in his voice was obvious, even though his tone was stern. “Où étais tu ? Mais à quoi pensais-tu donc courir comme ça?” The man buried his face further into the crook of her neck and sighed.“Ne me fait plus jamais ça.”

The little girl, Lena apparently, returned the hug and even patted the man softly on his back. Patrick bit back a chuckle.

“I was just having a pleasant conversation with this nice gentleman, papa.” She explained, making the man untangle himself from her, holding her hand in his instead, to look at said man. “Your phone call took ages!” She dragged the a of the last word in a whine. “I was bored.”

The man, -and oh boy, was he all man, tall, built and ,weirdly for the fall season, slightly tanned, but not a natural skin tone as his daughters, with short dark hair and even darker eyes-, stared intensely at Patrick, silently assessing him, his body on full alert.

Patrick tried to look as harmless as possible. The man was already upset enough; he didn’t want to cause him unnecessary worry even if the man’s heated gaze did all sorts of weird things to Patrick’s insides.

After what felt both like a lifetime and weirdly not long enough the man lowered his eyes and softened his posture. “I’m sorry she had bothered you, sir.” The man apologised politely, earning a scoff from Lena.

“I didn’t!” She protested, her big round eyes pleading at Patrick to back her up when her father looked between them unconvinced.

Patrick shook his head and curled his lips in a slight smile. “She really didn’t. She was a pleasure.” He assured and wasn’t even lying. Miss Sassypants was truly a delight; especially as she placed both her hands on her hips raising her brow in a clearly ‘told you so’ manner.

Tapping her foot once again, with her hands still on her hips, smiling as innocently as a baby cherub she broke into some kind of tune, humming lightly before saying:

“Jonny, Jonny.”

The man gave her a crooked grin. “Oui, mon coeur?”

“N'ai-je pas toujours raison?”  Lena sang again.

The man nodded. “Oui, mon coeur.”

Lena narrowed her eyes. “Es t-ce que tu meus?”

The man held up both of his arms, palms open towards her, shaking his head. “Non, mon coeur.”

Patrick couldn’t really place the tune but it did sound familiar. It also seemed like it was something they did regularly. Whatever it was, Patrick found it incredibly endearing.

They both laughed at the end of it and Lena threw herself at her father’s opened arms; not hard enough to knock him down but somehow they both ended up on the grass, the man’s long thick fingers (shut up, it was not his fault he noticed – they were right there!) tickling her sides. Part of the whole thing, Patrick guessed.

Lena started coughing which stopped whatever it was they were doing. The man rubbed soothing circles on her back. “Are you ok now?” He asked after a while and for the first time Patrick noticed a slight accent but nothing that screamed European despite the French spoken earlier.

Lena nodded. “Wanna go back?” He asked.

“No!” She protested. “Princess Peek-a-Boo and I aren’t done!” She gestured at Patrick.

“Lena! What on earth! Apologise now! You know better than that!” He reprimanded. “And what have I said about talking to strangers?”

“But he is not a stranger! He’s Princess Peek-a-Boo! His friends call him that!” Lena protested.

 “And are _you_ his _friend_?” the man asked her, face keep turning redder and redder the more she spoke.

 “Uhm -- Well, I-- “ Lena stumbled over her words, round eyes wide open and pleading at Patrick.

If Patrick were in a cartoon a light bulb would have lit above his head at that moment. He squirmed at his seat and bit at his nails. “Uhm -- about that...” He paused, uncertain. “Patrick Kane.” He blurted.

The man frowned. “What?”

“My name. That is.” He sighed and tried again. “My name; it’s Patrick Kane.” He extended his hand.

The man scooted closer. “Jonathan Toews.” He said, shaking Patrick’s hand. “And this bug here, is Lena.”

“’M not just a bug!” She protested. “I’m a firefly! I’m special!”

The man’s, Jonathan’s face fell for just a second and if Patrick hadn’t been paying such close attention to him he would have missed it. “That you are, mon coeur. That you are.”

As if he had just woken up from a trance, Jonathan pulled his hand away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

Patrick felt the loss of his warmth deep in the pits of his heart. He swallowed past the unexpected lump on his throat, ignoring his own flushed cheeks. “Okay, this is gonna sound really, really, _really_ strange,” he stressed “but... I need a friend... Only for a little while and uhm... in return I’ll --” Patrick worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He made a mental note to break out of the habit soon, while trying to decide what to offer when he really had nothing.

“Wow! Don’t think too hard there pal, you’ll break your brain!” Lena said with a snort.

“Lena!” Jonathan cried out.

“What? He looked like he was about to have an aneurism.”

Jonathan slapped his palm on his forehead. “What am I going to do with you?”

Lena shrugged and gave her father a sugary sweet smile. Then her face turned serious again, as she addressed Patrick. “Explain yourself.”

Patrick took a deep breath. “As I said, I need a friend.”

“For what?” Patrick should have known Lena would have a billion questions.

“It’s ... It’s complicated.”

“Try, pathetic, really.”

Patrick’s jaw dropped but could he really blame her? Her father on the other hand, apparently did. “Lena, that’s enough!” His face hardened and his eyes darkened even more.

“It’s ok, really.” Patrick said timidly earning him a glare from Jonathan, probably for interfering with his attempt to teach his daughter some manners. “Look, it’s a long story and I kind of had a rough night and I would _kill_ for some coffee.”

Patrick regretted his choice of words as soon as he saw Jonathan’s body go rigid. Lena patted her father’s hand. “Relax, papa. He’s not actually a bum. Really.” She reassured.

“Kind of. But not really?” Patrick offered when Jonathan’s questioning gaze turned on him once again. “I can explain?”

“Can’t we buy him a coffee, papa?” Lena pleaded, and if Patrick didn’t think it’d get him in trouble he would have hugged her in gratitude. “Poor thing clearly needs it and you always say we have to help those less fortunate than us.” She batted her eyelashes and just like that, right before Patrick’s eyes, Jonathan turned like putty in her hands.

He stood up, helping his daughter along the way, dusted his pants off and gestured Patrick to follow with a tilt of his head.

They bought him a cup from the vendor cart, sat down on the grass once again, and having almost downed half of it in a gulp, Patrick started talking.

“So, you have a bet with a dead guy.” Lena more stated than asked after Patrick was done explaining.

“Mm-hmm” Patrick nodded, lips still attached at the rim of the coffee cup.

“Wicked!” Patrick wished he could be that easily amused himself. He genuinely enjoyed hanging around the little girl. She was refreshing; witty, sassy, with not a fake bone in her body. He hadn’t been aware of it till that moment, but he longed for more people like that to be in his life. “So what do you get if you win?”

Patrick scrunched his nose. “That’s the part that’s complicated.” He admitted. “I – I don’t really know. Something about an ultimate gift or some shit like that.”

On his other side, Jonathan made a disapproving noise, glaring down at him. Patrick pinked, eyes widening and he mouthed a silent apology. Jonathan had a strange effect on him that Patrick couldn’t quite find a name for. He both liked it and feared it.

Lena on the other hand, seemed lost in thought, unaware of the exchange and Patrick’s inner turmoil. “So, what do we get if we help you?” She finally asked, then proceeded to answer her own question. “We need money. How much are you willing to pay?”

“Lena, arreter maintenant! Enough!” Jonathan commanded, in a sharp, quick tone. For the first time since Patrick met her, Lena looked ashamed and huddled into a tight ball. Patrick, on his side fought between a sudden surge of arousal and an awkwardness that came from not knowing how to deal with the situation in front of him.

“I was just trying to help.” Lena whimpered, hugging her knees and rocking her body back and forth. Sadness engulfed Patrick, as well as a surge of fierce protectiveness that came out of nowhere, hit him in the chest and left him breathless.

Jonathan hugged Lena and kissed the side of her head.”I know but you can’t just go around asking people for money.” Lena raised her head, eyes sad but no wetness in them at all, and opened her mouth to speak. Her father cut her off before she even begun. “ _And-_ “he emphasised, “you said Patrick is your friend. Since when do we ask something back from our friends when they need our help?”

“But he said we needed to be friends only for a while.” She whined. “He can pay us after that.”

This time, Patrick couldn’t hold back the chuckle. Even Jonathan’s attempt at a scowl was half-hearted. “How about this -- we” he gestured between him and Lena “become real friends not just for a little while and if, and that’s a big if, _if_ I get any money I can share it with you?” He gave Jonathan a timid smile. “Friends share, right?”

Patrick knew the look Jonathan was now sporting all too well; a struggle between need and pride, he had worn the same expression himself before after all.

All the while, Lena was rubbing at her chin contemplating everything. Finally, she nodded. “You got yourself a deal, Princess Peek-a-Boo.” She deadpanned.

Jonathan groaned and Lena shrugged. “What? We’re friends now.”

Patrick laughed and extended his hand for a handshake. Lena scoffed and batted his hand away. “We Toews’ are tact--tacil-- “she stumbled over the word. “What did you say we were again, papa?”

“Tactile.” Jonathan provided, amusement written all over his face. It was a very good look on him, Patrick thought.

“Yeah, that! We hug!” She said and Patrick suddenly found himself engulfed in two tiny, bony arms, his hugging back in an instant.

Jonathan’s phoned chimed; a ring that apparently both knew and meant nothing good if Lena’s body stiffening in his arms was anything to go by. “We’ve got to go.” Jonathan said as Lena untangled herself from Patrick. “Look, I -- Let me think about it, ok?”

Lena whined and Patrick hesitated but he couldn’t afford to push so he just nodded. “Tomorrow, same time, same place?” He asked.

Jonathan shook his head. “Can’t. The day after?”

Patrick nodded in agreement and waved back at Lena’s hurried goodbye. He stood there, watching them walk away, until there was nothing left of them at his sight.

 

**

 

Patrick’s, not quite two-day stay, at the Lincoln Park CS Shelter had left him more emotionally exhausted than all his recent ordeals combined. He was used to walking around those halls offering his services, warm much needed smiles and heartfelt encouragements. To go from that back to where he had been once before, where he had sworn to himself he’d never be again, brought back haunted memories and unhealed wounds.

It was no wonder that when he made it to his date with Lena and Jonathan he’d be a little worse for wear. What he hadn’t expected was to see them both looking equally drained and miserable.

They were huddled together on a chequered picnic blanket, drinking something hot, if the steam from the thermos was anything to go by. No one moved when he approached and sat down, only their eyes and a slight tilt of their lips upwards, an idea of a smile.

“Hey.”They both nodded their heads in greeting. “What’s wrong?” Jonathan had been serious the last time as well, but Lena… it was like the light in her eyes had dimmed.

Jonathan shook his head. “Rough night.” He said, not offering anything more.

Patrick sighed his agreement because he did know about those. “Look,” Jonathan said before Patrick even had a chance to speak, “it’s -- we don’t have a lot of time and we’re both really tired but Lena insisted we had to help so can you… make it quick? Please.” The last word uttered as an afterthought, in between pauses.

Patrick nodded eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m so grateful that you guys…”

“Patrick!” Jonathan’s voice sounded sad and tired, but chastising enough that had Patrick blush from embarrassment like a kid being told off in front of a crowd.

“Sorry.” He apologised sheepishly. “All we have to do is make a call on this thing,” he said, fishing the Conversay out of his jacket pocket “and talk to Mr. Manche. Probably answer some questions. I don’t really know for sure.”

Jonathan nodded and whispered something to Lena that was too low for Patrick to hear. Watching the little girl, dressed in all black with the only colour on her a dim yellow at the end of some sort of pin on her beanie, having trouble with motion made Patrick feel like a selfish asshole. He needed but did he so badly that he was willing to put the girl in further strain? “Look,” he said hesitantly “if this is a bad time... I don’t... She doesn’t look so well and I hate to...”

Lena did a slight shaking motion with her head. “I want to.” She said in a tired voice. “Want to help you. Please?”

Patrick eyed her warily. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” He asked, looking at her father as well for confirmation.

“Yeah.”

“Ok. I’m making the call. Alright?” He asked both of them.

“Go ahead.” Jonathan was the one to reply.

Patrick made the call and fortunately for all of them it connected almost immediately.

“Patrick,” Mrs. Fowler’s face appeared on screen. “How have you been?”

“Ok, I guess. I’m here with my friend and we wanted to speak with Mr. Manche, is he there?”

“He’s right here,” Maggie said “hold on a second” she clicked a few buttons reversing the camera angle. “Go ahead now Patrick. He can both see and hear you.”

Mr. Manche appeared on screen as she was finishing her sentence so Patrick scooted closer to Lena and moved the device so the lawyer could see both of them. The little girl straightened her body and no one would have guessed how much effort it took her. No one but Patrick who saw her little hand turn white from fisting the edge of her jacket so tightly.

“Hello.” Lena said. Hearing her someone would think her shy and timid. Patrick heard tremendous exertion and by the tick in Jonathan’s jaw he knew he wasn’t the only one.

“Hello, Mrs...?”

“Lena Andree Toews, sir.” The girl stated her name.

“Nice to meet you Miss Toews. I’m mister Manche and I’m a lawyer. Do you know what that means?”

“Duh!” Lena exclaimed, much more vibrantly this time.

“Lena!” a horrified Jonathan whisper-shouted.

Lena scrunched her nose. “Sorry.” She mumbled and then louder “Yes, sir.”

Patrick thought he saw a ghost of a smile on the lawyer’s face even for just a second but he couldn’t really be sure.

“So, Miss Toews, you’re Patrick’s friend?” Manche asked, face now completely serious and business like.

“Yes, I am.”

Manche raised a brow, sceptical. “True friend?”

“Absolutely!” Lena turned her head slightly and smiled up at Patrick, who beamed at her in return.

“How long have you known Mr. Kane, Miss Toews?”

A kind of spark suddenly appeared in her eyes. Patrick wasn’t sure if he should be afraid. Lena caught him off guard quite often. “We go waaaay back,” She stressed. “Ever since we called him Princess Peek-a-Boo.”

Patrick groaned, Jonathan somewhere on the side snorted amused, someone who Patrick was pretty sure was Maggie chuckled and Manche just stared wide-eyed. Lena had a wolfish smile on resembling a little more the girl Patrick had first met.

“And, uh...” Manche cleared his throat, blinking a few times “he hasn’t promised you any compensation for this friendship?”

Lena snorted. “Look at him! Does he look like he has anything to offer?” For once Patrick wasn’t affected by such words; he was more amused than anything and maybe a little bit enamoured with this brilliant creature.

Manche looked like he had been caught off guard once again. He shuffled a few of the papers in front of him, probably in an attempt to hide it, Patrick guessed. “So, uh... do you expect this friendship to continue?”

Lena paused making Patrick alert, ready to go into panic mode. They were so close it’d be a shame to have it all fall apart right at the end. That’s how he caught it. Lena’s hand sliding right into Jonathan’s, squeezing tightly. Her eyes never wavered. “I plan on knowing Patrick for the rest of my life.”

Patrick heard Jonathan’s breath hitch and his whole body stiffened. That hurt him. Would it really be that bad? He knew he didn’t have much to show for right now but he knew how to be a great friend, even if he hadn’t had all that many of those in his life.

Manche’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “And do you swear that what you’ve told us here today is the absolute truth?”

Lena nodded vigorously. “I do.”

Manche gave a curt nod. “Very well. Thank you for your time, Miss Toews. Patrick, Mrs. Fowler will contact you tomorrow with the details for your flight here.”

The screen turned black and the call ended. Patrick wasn’t sure what had happened or if they had passed muster but he hugged Lena tightly voicing his thanks over and over again.

In the midst of his relief and gratitude he didn’t think twice when he threw himself at Jonathan’s arms as well. The moment two muscular arms closed around him, hugging him back tightly was when it all registered with him, his whole body going limp for just a second revelling at the warmth before going stiff.

He pulled away and he wasn’t sure but for a minute he thought Jonathan’s arms lingered at his waist, a fandom of a touch.

Eyes downcast and rosy cheeked he mumbled an apology and a thanks. When he found the courage to look at the other man, he was met with a warm yet tired smile. Despite his exhaustion, Patrick thought, Jonathan’s dark eyes emanated a weird kind of comfort, as if just by looking into them Patrick was gaining strength.

The silence stretched but it was far from awkward. It was as if their gazing was having a bizarre conversation Patrick’s mind couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of just yet. Whatever kind of trance they were both lost in, it dissolved at the sound of Lena clearing her throat.  

Jonathan’s head snapped towards her immediately. Patrick thought his neck was a bit red but he wasn’t sure if it was from the interaction or the cold. “We have to go.” Jonathan told him, shaking Patrick out of his reverie and for some reason not yet clear to him, Patrick felt sad at the sound of it.

He nodded. “Sure. I don’t – I’m not sure I know enough words to say how grateful I am.”

Jonathan waved his attempt away. “There’s no need for it, Patrick, really. We’re happy we were able to help.”

He sounded so sincere that Patrick found it hard to swallow, gratitude stuck in his throat with no way to escape. Kindness... he was not used to it.

If anyone would ask, Patrick wouldn’t know what possessed him to utter the following words. Not sure if it was the dreaded return to the shelter or his unwillingness to part from this company.”Uhm... I know I asked for too much already but uhm... could it be possible to crash at your place tonight? I know it’s a lot but... on the couch or just the floor really, I don’t care. Just one night.”

Jonathan’s pinched expression was all the answer Patrick needed really but the other man’s reply almost broke him. “Patrick...we...we would love to help you, but...” and hadn’t Patrick heard those very words recently!

He raised his hand, effectively shutting Jonathan up, all the while furiously shaking his head. “Forget about it. It’s fine. I’ll ... I’ll come by here again when I... after Buffalo... with money hopefully. I -- I do keep my promises, I swear.” He said everything in a rush, mumbled a hurried goodbye and turned his back on them.

He quickened his step and never faltered even when the two voices behind him were calling his name repeatedly. He hated himself for walking away like that, hated the fact that they might think he was angry and hated his stupid eyes that seemed to leak all over his face.

He hated his soft heart the most for its ability to break so easily.

 

 

***

 

 


	4. (the gift of money)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my haste to post the previous chapter I forgot to supply the translation for the French parts. I apologise for that. I went back and fixed it though and now you can hover above the words for the English translation.  
> I hope my mistake didn't take away from the chapter and you're all still enjoying the story.

 

 

Patrick arrived at Joel’s office earlier than he was expected. Instead of spending his time sitting in a chair drowning himself in sad thoughts, he focused on the framed photos on the walls. Apparently, the lawyer worked with a lot of influential people, wealthy and famous. It didn’t surprise him, really. Despite his sour disposition the older man radiated confidence and charm that could draw even the most particular person in.

His grandfather was on the wall as well; still dark-haired with a glint in his eyes next to a very young at the time Joel, dressed in a suit probably a size too large for him; a contrast to his current well tailored suits.

“They go way back.” Maggie supplied, startling Patrick who still thought he was alone. He just nodded, having nothing to contribute to the comment. “Your grandfather,” Maggie continued “hired him right out of law school, when no one would give him a chance.”

“So he became his minion.” He said bitterly. Maybe his anger was misdirected but he couldn’t really take it out on the one who deserved it because he had done what he always did best; he left -- permanently this time.

Maggie came to stand beside him. “Joel has a firm moral code; his sense of loyalty and gratitude is strong but he isn’t blind to people’s faults.”She walked around him, took an assortment of keys out of her pocket and bend down, unlocking the last drawer of the large file cabinet.

“This stays between us.” She commanded and handed him an album.

Patrick wasn’t sure if he wanted to look at it but in the end his curiosity won. Holding it tight, he flipped through the pages. There were countless pictures of the same two men. One of them Patrick knew. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that this was a documentation of a shared life. On the last used page there was a wedding invitation dated for the following spring. “I -- I don’t understand.” He croaked.

Maggie placed her hand on his back in a gentle touch. “That’s Jake.” She tapped the picture of the man Patrick didn’t know. His salt and pepper hair was a little longer in the back, curling upwards; he wasn’t short but not as tall as Joel with a body that reminded Patrick of a ballet dancer. If he was a betting man he’d wager he was limber and agile. He had a kind face and warm eyes but what stuck out was that he was… beautiful; there was no other word to describe him. The kind of beauty that has everyone’s head turn and look in awe. “They’ve been together for over forty years, well before your grandfather hired him. If he knew...”

“he never would have.” Patrick finished the sentence for her. He more felt than watched her nod. “But -- Joel’s wearing a wedding ring. I saw it.”

“ _Now_ he does. This... this thing with you is his last attachment to your grandfather. His last debt to pay and then he’ll be free.”

Patrick swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Is that why he’s pushing me so hard?”

Maggie shook her head. “He wants you to succeed. Donald’s instructions are very specific and he needs you to follow them by letter so no one can contest your... win, let’s say. Freeing you is what will free him as well. So you’ll get some of the chances he never had.”

“Does he know about --“Even though Patrick tried to be unapologetic of who he was he often stumbled at voicing it out loud. Old traumas were hard to shake off.

“He knows way more than you think. Listen to him, Patrick. To both of us. We’re on your side.”

Patrick nodded. Weird as this whole thing was, it still felt nice to realise that he had people on his corner. He wouldn’t have guessed when he first met her that the stone-faced woman would actually become his ally.

Joel’s voice boomed somewhere across the corridor and Maggie rushed to return the album to its place. She gently guided Patrick to the chair in front of Joel’s desk and proceeded to furiously tap at the screen of her cell phone that had somehow appeared in her hands. If Patrick believed in such things, he’d swear she was magical.

“Hello, Patrick.” Joel greeted him as he walked in. “Sorry, to have kept you waiting...” Patrick tuned him out. Instead, he stared at him wondering how much inner strength the lawyer must have to keep such a big part of himself hidden away for decades. He didn’t know how he knew but he was certain it wasn’t just ambition. He had been growing up in a time where his feelings were against the law; the same law he swore to uphold. The respect he felt for that man was something unprecedented. He liked very few people and respected even fewer but this couple… it tugged at Patrick’s heart strings and dangerously fed the hopeless romantic in him.

Meanwhile, screen-Donald was spewing false accusations once again. “ _You have no concept whatsoever of the value of money. It has always been available to you. Let’s review some of your past highlights; cruises in exotic islands, sports cars and luxurious hotels and an obscene amount of money spend_ _on jewellery stores and women’s lingerie boutiques_.”

Patrick’s jaw dropped, his jaw tightened and his knuckles turned white from clenching them so hard. So that’s where his money had gone. Briefly he wondered if his mother was the recipient of the gifts but figured he didn’t really care. Even if she wasn’t, she’d made her bed and had to sleep in it.

“ _But the past is the past... I figured you had a pretty rough month.”_ Joel handed Patrick an envelope while screen-Donald was still talking. _“Since you’ve never held one of those before let me educate you; it’s called a pay check. It’s what you earned working at Bill’s. Of course the I.R.S. ravaged it first. I hate those guys! Always out for your money_.”

For some inexplicable reason, it still caught Patrick off guard just how much of greedy assholes his family truly was; each and every one of them. Even in his death tape, Donald bitched about having to pay the people who slaved for him, when he handed it liberally to his deadbeat, lazy relatives.

“ _Now, as much as you need this money, you have to take it and give it to someone in need; someone with a real problem, if you even know what that is_.”

This time, Patrick’s ‘ _fuck you’_ to the old man was silent. He swallowed it down, along with the unfairness past the knot that had formed in his stomach. He hadn’t cared enough about Patrick’s problem when he was alive, what difference would it make if he voiced them now?

“Patrick?” Maggie prompted softly. “Would you like us to cash the check for you?”

“Please.”

He handed Maggie the envelope only to be handed a new one a few minutes later. “How will you know how I spent it?”

Joel smirked. “Oh, trust me. We’ll know.”

 

**

 

Patrick wandered around the park unsure of his next move. He had promised Lena money but would Joel consider giving it to them a pay off or help to someone in need. Surely their problems were grand if a little girl was troubling herself over monetary issues.

Patrick neared their usual spot, getting ready for an uncomfortable discussion. He’d lay his cards on the table once again and hopefully come to the right decision. Lena and Jonathan weren’t there, not surprisingly since Patrick missed their usual time by half an hour. What he did find though, was one of the drunken hobos who usually resided on the other side of the park. This one, he sort of knew by sight. He was one of the few Ralphie hadn’t recruited and was currently holding a small tote bag.

Patrick could have dismissed it as any other if it weren’t for the knitted hat peeking through the brim; the yellow ended bug still pinned on it, blackened and dull as any faux silver accessory would be.

He rushed towards him and grabbed the bag by its handles. For a moment, he feared the tattered fabric would rip under his fingertips. The man’s head snapped up, eyes wide and full of fear as Patrick loomed over him letting out a deep growl. “Let it go.” He commanded.

The guy released his grip and raised his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t steal it, I swear. I just found it here.” He pointed at the area to the right. “I was -- I was just searching through it to see if I can find an ID...so I can return it...I promise.”

He was shaking like a leaf and Patrick felt sorry for him. He understood why Ralphie had never bothered with him; too weak to be part of a crew as ruthless as the one Ralph run. “Did you find anything?”

The hobo bit his lip and widened his eyes, looking guilty. “Just, uhm ...” he bent down near the garbage bin and came up with a bunch of crumpled paper. “Here.”

Patrick put the straps of the bag on his shoulder, making sure it was secure under his arm and reached with his other hand for the papers. With deft movements he tried to straighten the crinkled paper only to realise his mistake. Having taken his eyes from the hobo, the man had made a run for it. “Fuck!” Patrick cursed loudly.

He sat at the nearest bench and opened the bag. The contents of it were the hat, a few crayons and a colouring book, a bottle of water and some candy wrappers. No signs of a wallet or anything valuable. His attention turned back to the stack of papers.

An invisible hand reached in and squeezed his heart tightly, almost enough to shutter it. They were overdue hospital bills. There was a payment plan worked out and apparently Jonathan had missed a couple of payments.

Children’s Memorial Hospital was at the corner of Fullerton & Lincoln. It was a place well loved by the habitants of the park as the staff and guests there were always willing to give out a hot beverage or a sandwich.

On particularly cold nights, some of the nurses would leave spare blankets in the parking lot and near the holidays there were always treats up for grabs. Their chapel was always warm and always open and there were more than one night that its pews had housed many of them. Not him though; Patrick was at odds with God.

Patrick didn’t have to think twice. He headed towards the hospital ready to settle the bills. He couldn’t afford the whole amount but it was enough for at least one payment. Maybe he could find out where they lived so he could return the bag as well. Worst case scenario, he’d leave it at the nurses’ station for Jonathan and Lena to find the next time they visited.

The hospital was warm but Patrick didn’t think it really mattered to the people being there. He could see couples huddled together, silently crying in each other’s arms and children with tubes stuffed in their noses trying to put on a brave face even as they ran their fingers through their hairless heads. For all the world’s injustices, this was what cut Patrick deeper; too young and yet full of pain with an uncertainty of a future that may never come.

 Patrick walked up the information desk, heart heavy and feet dragging as if they were made of lead. “Uhm... hello,” he said to the brunette girl currently disconnecting a call. Her face looked natural but up close he could see some traces of light make up. “Jonathan and Lena Toews.” He said extending the still wrinkled papers as the girl was furiously typing at her computer. “They have--“

“3rd floor, room 307” the girl said, offering a small smile.

“I --“Patrick was speechless. He hadn’t expected them to be there; he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to see them, not yet and definitely not now. “Uhm...”

“You can go right ahead, sir.” The girl urged. “Visiting hour isn’t over yet.”

“Uhm...who can I talk to about a payment?”

“The Accounting and Finance Office is on the 5th floor, sir.”

Patrick nodded. “Thank you.”

The ride on the elevator to the 5th floor wasn’t long enough for Patrick to make sense to everything that was happening. He didn’t know exactly what he got himself into but he could at least both keep a promise made and hopefully move on to the next part of Donald’s ‘gifts’.

He was so lost in thought he didn’t pay enough attention to his surroundings when he exited the elevator so he collided with someone right as he turned to the corridor corner. The bills fell from his hands as did the files the other person was holding and he dunked down to pick them all up. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there-“

“Patrick?” At the sound of Jonathan’s voice he got up so fast he got a headrush. He gripped the wall tight to catch his breath and stop everything from spinning. “What are you doing here?” Jonathan asked. Then his expression hardened. “How did you find us?”

Patrick bit the inside of his cheek and handed Jonathan the bag and his files. “I -- I went to the park... You weren’t there and someone was going through the bag. I...uhm... I recognised Lena’s hat and I -- I don’t know if he took anything-“

Jonathan went through the bag, frantically searching for something. For a moment Patrick panicked. Maybe the hobo did take something valuable after all, and then Jonathan’s gaze fell on the paper in Patrick’s hand, shook his head and his whole body posture changed; he tensed and his jaw hardened. “What do you want, Patrick?”

Patrick swallowed nervously. “Is Lena...” He wasn’t sure what to say, it was stupid even since he could hazarded a guess as to what was going on.

“Did you see her?” Jonathan asked softer but his apprehension was still evident.

Patrick shook his head. “Her room is two floors down.” Jonathan supplied.

“Do you guys...?”

Jonathan nodded. “That’s why we couldn’t help you with the...”

God, Patrick felt horrible. They couldn’t put him up because the hospital room was their house, at least at the moment. “What’s wrong with her?”

Jonathan eyed him warily. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On why you’re really here, Patrick.”

“I --“ Patrick squeezed the bills in his hand and Jonathan’s eyes caught the movement.

“Uh, I see. You won your bet and you came to pay up, eh?” Jonathan’s voice went cold all of a sudden.

“I... Not really. I do have to...give some money away, I guess and I had a promise to keep...”

“We don’t need your charity, Patrick and we certainly won’t be used by a rich spoiled brat to win one over his dead grandfather. We already helped you enough, don’t you think?

“It’s not like that.” Patrick blurted. Jonathan raised his brow in disbelief. Patrick sighed. “Ok, maybe it’s a little bit like that -- the...part of the bet I guess but not... You need money... I can help you...” Patrick paused, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t cover the whole amount, not yet but I have enough for a payment-“

Jonathan opened his mouth, probably to protest but Patrick cut him off “but not because I see you as a charity but because I... I know what it means to struggle, to not have enough-“

Jonathan scoffed. “What, you spend a few days pretending to be a bum and suddenly you know about hardships? I know all about you Patrick Kane the second. I _can_ Google you know.”

Unfair as the words were, Patrick understood the reason for being spoken. “Not ... not now,” he said. “I was...I had been...” He lowered his head “before... I was homeless, before.” He muttered, feeling the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “That sure as hell wasn’t on Google, was it?”

“Patrick” Jonathan sounded choked up and Patrick couldn’t handle pity, or even sympathy, not now when he was on the verge of breaking down.

“It... I know what it’s like, ok?” He said a bit more aggressively “Maybe even more than you; wondering if I’d survive the cold or if malnourishment would be the way to go or even if one of the street gangs was going to-- “  He stopped himself mid-sentence, having revealed too much already. “But that doesn’t matter. Not now. I can help. I want to.”

He hazarded a glance at Jonathan and found warm brown eyes staring at him intensely. He couldn’t read pity in them but an undecipherable expression. Jonathan motioned him towards a couch at the end of the corridor.

They sat down, no one speaking for a while. Finally, Jonathan broke the silence. “She’s ... Lena has cancer. Ewing Sarcoma to be exact. It’s...” Patrick could see him struggling, fingers that somehow had found Lena’s hat and tracing the little bug pin on it.

“What is that?” He asked.

Jonathan huffed. “It’s a firefly.” Patrick frowned, confused until he realised Jonathan had been talking about the bug. “She... Lena didn’t take the news of her illness very well at first. When she...after her first scans, the tomography and the MRI she... she broke all the blue bulbs on our Christmas tree that year, she even slept without her favourite night light on. It was a replica of Iron Man’s arc reactor.”

 “I – I don’t understand.” Patrick confessed.

Jonathan searched through his files and handed Patrick an x-ray without raising his head. Patrick didn’t have to guess whose it was as Lena’s name was already on it; as were an assortment of scattered tumours that looked like they glowed blue.

“After her first surgery and two rounds of radiation therapy that hadn’t worked we went to a cabin we had in the mountains. She was tired of everything, especially being around people. She couldn’t play anymore, couldn’t run; she had to be constantly vigilant about germs so her friends eventually stopped coming around, even ignored her when they saw her in the park.” Patrick winced at the thought; his heart breaking a little more with Jonathan’s every word.

“One night, right at the end of summer, as she was sitting in the porch she saw some fireflies. She had never seen one before. She stayed there silent, staring in awe until she fell asleep on her rocking chair. The next morning she packed her bag and asked me to return to Winnipeg to schedule the chemotherapy. She wouldn’t tell me why she had changed her mind but whatever it was I was grateful it had given her a will to fight.”

Patrick had tear tracks on his cheeks and a lot of unanswered questions, the amount of which was multiplying by the minute but he was afraid to ask in case Jonathan was shaken up from his trance and stopped talking. He didn’t know why but he had a feeling the other man wasn’t usually the sharing type. As he felt another tear trickle down his face, he silently cursed himself for being so weak. Here Jonathan was, living a parent’s worst nightmare yet his eyes were completely dry; red-rimmed but dry nonetheless.

“The chemo failed as well.” Jonathan choked out. “The doctors back home suggested a shot at some clinical trials. The weeks waiting for an answer were the worst. I -- “

Patrick didn’t know what possessed him but he timidly raised his hand and cupped Jonathan’s, the one still holding the hat. “I’m not proud of it,” Jonathan continued after a long pause, “but I lost it. I hovered and I fussed and I isolated us. We became ghosts but there wasn’t a thing I refused her.”

Patrick squeezed his hand. “Six months ago, we received the answer. We were in. So, I sold everything back in Canada and we came here. We came here, with your shitty American health system and your insane monetary demands just so she can have a chance.” His voice raised a bit, anger and despair all tangled in one. Patrick couldn’t really blame him.

“Outside the airport, she saw a street stall. A lady was selling jewellery and accessories. She rarely asked for anything so when she asked for this,” the pad of his finger traced the little bug “I bought it for her, no questions asked. It was a cheap little thing but when I gave it to her she beamed at me as if I had given her the moon.”

“Why does she like them so much?” Patrick asked, finally realising that the small tattered thing had once been a firefly.

Jonathan turned his hand palm up and guiding Patrick’s finger over the pin. “She says she is one ... Where it’s bright and everyone can see, she’s ...ordinary but in the dark, she glows.” He let go of Patrick’s finger and tapped at the image in the x-ray. _In the dark...deep inside her...she glows...like a firefly._

A sob escaped from deep inside Patrick, catching him unaware and not prepared enough to hide it. Next to him, Jonathan’s body shook. “I don’t want her to be a firefly, Patrick.” He choked. “I hate the damn things! She’s ten years old. She should be a princess or a pirate or – I don’t care! Just not that! I only had her for three years...I ... It’s not fair... I don’t want her to be a firefly...”

Dry heaved sobs made Jonathan’s whole body tremble. Patrick immediately shifted and without hesitating he ushered the other man into his arms. Jonathan struggled at first but Patrick didn’t give up. They pushed and pulled until all fight left Jonathan’s body and crumbled into Patrick’s wide-open waiting arms.

 

**

 

Patrick left the hospital without seeing Lena. Jonathan, ‘ _call me Jonny’_ he had said, explained that the new drug had her feeling nauseated and weak, that’s how they had forgotten the bag in the park, and he thought it’d be better if Patrick came back in a day or two. He did agree to take the money for the payment, even reluctantly but had promised more eagerly to tell Lena that Patrick had come over and that he’d return.

The moment Patrick exited the hospital he pulled out his Conversay and dialled. Maggie, as always, picked up on the third ring. “Well done, Patrick.” She said, instead of a greeting.

“Wha..? How did you...?” Patrick shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important. Look, Mrs. Fowler...Maggie, I -- I need a favour.  The bill I paid...the man...he owes one more payment. $1500. I – You gave me back my apartment key but my things are not there yet. I- You have to pay it, please. Once my stuff is returned I can wire you the money. I’m good for it I swear.”

“Patrick,” Maggie interjected but Patrick was in a panic mode. “I swear! I – I have a job. I – well, it’s not full time or anything. I work for one company, assessing...evaluating the viability of new product ideas so it’s kind of a seasonal work but I make good money and I have my trust.”

“Patrick,” Maggie tried again.

“Maggie, I swear, I don’t spent a lot, I just withdraw large sums and tuck them away... I-“

“Patrick!” Maggie shouted sternly cutting Patrick off this time. Her face on the screen had a tender expression. “I know, Patrick.” She assured softly.

Patrick’s throat clicked as he swallowed down his surprise. “You- you do?”

Maggie nodded. “So, you’ll...?”

Maggie nodded again. “I’ll handle it, I promise.” It was a vow and everything deep in him settled and relief washed over him.

“Thank you!” If Maggie were there, Patrick would have kissed her. Instead he gifted her with a dazzling smile.

“Patrick,” Maggie stopped him before disconnecting the call”...play Donald’s next video.”

 

 

***

 


	5. (the gift of family)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like we (and I hope you're all still with me on this journey) have passed the halfway mark!

 

 

 

“ _Our lives should be lived not avoiding problems...but welcoming them as challenges that will strengthen us...so that we can be victorious in the future. So, now that I have given you the gift of work and friends and the value of money...let’s discover the gift of family. Now, this is a tough one ... but see if it’s even remotely possible...to get something positive out of our family. If my doctors are accurate at all... this assignment might fall on Thanksgiving. How appropriate!”_

Patrick was beginning to think that everything that had been asked of him was part of a cruel joke driven by his grandfather’s very twisted sense of humour. The only other alternative would be that Patrick was paying for sins of a past life and he wasn’t even sure he believed in those.

He had avoided the family like the plague even before he cut ties with even his closest relatives. How could he possibly survive an evening with all the vultures gathered together, filing their nails and teeth to rip whatever they could reach of him? To say he had never been popular with that crowd would be an understatement.

His grandfather was not only asking him to come out of this situation unscathed but also gain something positive from that interaction; basically... the impossible. Patrick had very few illusions of his abilities and had come to accept his strengths as well as his shortcomings. This, he doubted he could see through without being the final straw that would break the camel’s back.

Being overwhelmed, unable to deal with the feeling his new quest was bringing, he realised that sitting around dwelling on everything was the worst possible thing at the moment, so he decided to seek the only people who had ever shown him bounteous kindness and support and had, for some inexplicable reason, become his getaway.

 

*

 

Patrick’s breath caught as his eyes took the sight in front of him. Lena was lying down, head uncovered to reveal a baldness he had suspected but had never actually seen and skin paler than the sheets that were covering the hospital bed.

He tentatively rapped his knuckles on the door to reveal his presence certain that if he were to stand there with no distractions he would break down and cry. He figured the last thing the little girl needed was for someone to turn into a wreck in front of her, especially since she had an enormous inner strength that shamed Patrick, a grown man who was more likely to crumble under the weight of fate than fight tooth and nail to beat the odds.

Lena’s hopeful expression fell as she turned her head towards the door and met Patrick there instead of whomever she had been expecting. “Oh...hey Patrick.”

It did sting a bit but he realised that people formed attachments in different paces and just because he was a needy, clingy mess it didn’t mean everyone else was as well. “Uhm...is it a bad time? I can go if-”

Lena shook her head and motioned him to come inside. “No, come, sit. I just – I thought it was papa.” She sighed and Patrick thought he heard a whiz in her exhale, as he sat on the chair next to her bed.

“Oh, is he with the doctor?”

Lena lowered her eyes and shrugged. “Are you alright? Did something happen?” Patrick questioned, alarmed at Jonny’s absence and Lena’s bizarre behaviour.

“I -- We ... We had a fight.” She confessed but she seemed conflicted whether to elaborate or not. It wasn’t as if Patrick was a gossip by nature but something about this situation was needling him to pry. From the little he had known them he could tell they were very close which made him wonder what exactly could have driven them to spend time apart.

“You wanna talk about it?” He hoped it came out nonchalant enough to not have her feel pressured but inviting enough if she needed to be lent an ear.

Her brows furrowed in contemplation, eyes intensely focused on Patrick’s face as if she was assessing the offer. “I -- I guess...you know all about me now, yeah? Papa said he explained.”

Patrick confirmed it with a nod, sadness taking over without him really meaning to. “I’m so sorry-“

“Oh, God, shut up! No need to get mushy on me now!” She said in a fake liveliness Patrick realised was her protective wall.

Patrick half-assed a chuckle and nodded in agreement. “So, I’m sick and stuck in here, so I can’t go to school, yeah?” Patrick nodded again. “But papa says education is important so he hospital-schools me.”

“Hospital-schools you?” Patrick chuckled for real this time.

Lena shrugged. “Look around you, genius; I can’t really call it home-school.” The ‘duh’ in her tone was crystal clear and not at all implied. “Today, it was Maths day and I hate them. I had to solve a problem and it was too difficult and papa insisted that I could do it if I tried, and said something about how effort and practice makes us better and I got frustrated and angry because fuck maths, ok?”

“Lena!” Patrick was genuinely shocked at the ten year-olds use of the f- word.

“I know _all_ the curses in three languages, get over it! “

Patrick cocked his brow. “Was it your potty mouth what got you in trouble?”

Lena shook her head. “Papa lets me get away with it when I feel shitty.” Patrick could see it. If he were in Jonny’s place he’d have probably done the same thing. Lena hesitated, worrying her lip between her teeth. “I -- I swear I didn’t mean it, I was just tired and he -- I – told him... I said I hated him, ok?” She admitted. “I told him I hated him and why should I even bother with Maths since I’m gonna die anyway.”

Patrick felt the air leave his lungs in an instance. Hearing the words come out of her mouth so matter-of-factly made his ears buzz and his gut clench. He couldn’t begin to imagine how Jonny must have felt. “You-- I ...God, Lena, you...”

Tears were streaming down her face. “I know, ok? I know. I don’t really hate him, I swear.”

Patrick reached forward and wrapped her in a tight hug, his back at an awkward angle as he was standing now. He untangled one of his hands to pet her hair, a gesture that always brought comfort whenever it was done to him, but caught himself last minute realising the stupidity of the motion.

Not knowing if touching her head would be welcomed he instead pushed back and sat himself at the edge of her bed, both hands now holding hers. “He knows.”

“Yeah?” Lena asked, hope in both her eyes and voice.

Patrick gave a confirming nod. “I-- I think...it was more the other thing.”

Lena frowned and Patrick could picture the wheels turning in her head to figure it out. “The dying thing?” she finally asked. Patrick gave a curt nod, willing his face to stay unmoving and not wince. “But he already knows that.” She stated, sounding bewildered.

“No, he doesn’t. You don’t either.” Patrick snapped and immediately regretted it.

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do too.”

God, she was so stubborn and she had such fire; how could she be so blaze at the possibility of dying? “How?”

Lena opened her mouth to reply but probably not finding a solid explanation she shut it again. Patrick wanted to smile at the pout on her face, for being backed into a corner but the context of the conversation didn’t make it possible. “Do you think ... you think he’s mad at me?” She asked after a while.

Patrick shook his head. “I think... I think he’s sad.” He didn’t know if it was a good idea to point it out to her; the last thing he wanted was to guilt the girl.

“Oh!” She exclaimed as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her before. “Yeah, that makes sense. I ... I think I am, too, sometimes.”

Patrick couldn’t help himself at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes suddenly seeming so hopeless. He scooted closer and opened his arms. Lena didn’t seem to hesitate. She pushed the covers back and threw herself at them.

It took a bit of manoeuvring and squirming for them to settle but in the end he had a lapful of a ten year old clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. On his end, Patrick was squeezing, as if by holding her tight he could somehow keep her tethered, unable to be taken away.

“Sometimes,” she said, face hidden in the crook of Patrick’s neck, “when...after the chemo...I’m dizzy and nauseous and _weak_...” the last word was a sneer when it left her lips, “I...then, I think...I think it’s unfair and I get angry at God... other times, I just want it to be over. No more pain, you know?”

Patrick couldn’t have prevented his tears from falling even if he had tried. “But if I go, what’s gonna happen to papa, eh? He’s gonna be sad and alone...so I keep trying.”

They sat together in silence for a while, until both their tears had dried out. “What...what about your mum?” He asked hesitantly, not entirely because it was a sensitive question but because he was actually fishing for information about the man that intrigued him so much.

“I don’t have one.” Lena deadpanned, seeming unaffected. “Well, I suppose technically I do. I didn’t grow in a field or anything.”

“Good to know.” Patrick chortled.

Lena glared at him and scoffed. “Whatever. I’m adopted. Papa’s not married if that’s what you’re asking. He’s also gay.”

Patrick’s face heated up. “I...I wasn’t-“

“Pfft!” Lena gave another scoff. “You so were! You’re not that subtle you know.”

Patrick groaned and hid his face in his palms. Here he was, thinking he was the master of subtlety but apparently the ten year old had his number! Lena patted his hand in a ‘there-there’ comforting gesture. “It’s ok. You’re kinda dense but I still like you. Papa likes you, too.”

Patrick gave a peek through his fingers. “He does?” He asked both amazed and hopeful.

Lena crossed her arms over her chest, got a serious expression on her face and stared at him intensely. At that moment, he reminded Patrick so much of Jonny it was unreal, considering he was almost certain that they weren’t blood related. “Are you a full on homosexual or a switch hitter?”

 Patrick choked and sputtered. “Wha-? I...Where do you come up with these things?”

Lena shrugged. “The internet...and you didn’t answer.”

“I’m gay.” He tried not to shiver. No matter how many times he said it, or how settled he was now with his identity, the words always took him back to the moment he first uttered them, terrified and pleading at the same time.

“Ok, good. Though the other one would have been just as fine. You have a boyfriend?”

Patrick shook his head. “Great! You got your grandpa’s money?”

Patrick shook his head again. “Ugh! Do you at least have some kind of a job usually?”

This time he nodded. “Awesome. Do you plan on using him?” She asked more sternly this time.

“No!” He objected. He wasn’t sure what he really wanted, they hardly knew each other after all but at least he knew that much. Patrick had never been a user.

“Then, yes, yes he does.”

“Does what?”

“He likes you, duh! Keep up!”

“Oh!” He flushed at the confirmation and his heart skipped a beat. His rational mind though shouted at him to rein his enthusiasm in; they were somewhat more than strangers but not nearly familiar enough to be falling in another category and both their lives were currently complicated.

 “I wouldn’t object to you asking him on a date. Maybe even kiss him a little.”

The heat travelled from his cheeks down to his entire body. “I don’t- We... it’s... we barely know-”

Lena swatted her forehead. “Oh, God, you’re even slower than I thought! You’re clearly made for each other. I could see it even back at the park.”

“At the park, I looked like a bum.” Patrick narrowed his eyes.

“Pfft! Let’s be real, you were a bum. But a nice one. You have potential.”

Patrick chuckled, amused. “Do I?”

Lena smiled at him for a moment and then her face fell. “If I... you’d be good for him, I think.”

“Lena-“

“And papa’s the best so he will be good for you, too. Can’t you at least try?” Her tone was pleading and really it wasn’t as if Patrick was opposed to the idea.

“We could try the park again when you’re feeling better, I suppose.”

“Ew!” She scrunched her nose. “As if I’d want to be there for that!”

“I don’t think your dad would leave you alone to go on a date, you know. He doesn’t seem the type.”

“I’ll figure something out.” Lena assured him.

Patrick had a sudden epiphany, a selfish one but the thought couldn’t be taken away once it had formed. “Do you... do you think he’d like to join me for Thanksgiving?”

Lena’s face soured. “We don’t celebrate your fake holidays!”

“Excuse me?” Patrick huffed indignantly “There’s nothing fake about Thanksgiving!”

“You’re doing it wrong!” Lena insisted “Your date is wrong, your food is wrong-”

“Now, wait up, missy,” he pointed his finger at her, “you can’t come here and diss our holiday like that-“

“Yes, I can. Everyone knows that Canadians celebrated Thanksgiving almost fifty years before your slowpoke pilgrims rang in the harvesting.”

“I can’t believe it!” Patrick raised his arms in the air dramatically. “The nerve!”

Lena giggled and Patrick beamed at the sound. “So, I guess it’s a no-go, huh?” He smirked. “Too bad. He’d be missing out on a splendid example of a way-too-wealthy American...dysfunctional...thing.”

Lena glared at him through a slit-eyed gaze. “Is it a date thing or a bet thing, really?”

“To be honest... it’s... I want to spend time with him but I also can’t face my family alone...so, a kill two birds with one stone thing, I guess?”

“Are they horrible?” She asked, apparently intrigued as to why a grown man would be afraid to be with relatives.

Patrick’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “They... they don’t really like me.” He admitted.

 “Why?” Lena squealed, affronted on his behalf, Patrick realised. In his chest his heart seemed like it gained another layer of protection in the shape of a little girl.

“Because...because of who...of what I am.”

Lena’s forehead creased. “What are you?”

Patrick took a deep breath. “Not like them.” He wasn’t sure if she really understood the reasons or if she just liked what he knew about him so far but her face turned cold and angry at once.

“Fuck them!” She exclaimed and Patrick groaned. “You don’t need them. _We_ like you.”

“I like you, too.” Patrick choked out, overwhelmed.

Lena groaned. “You really are a wimp, aren’t you?” She was the one who opened her arms this time. “Come here.” She urged.

Patrick huffed but went anyway. Fuck his family’s idea of a man and fuck the world’s toxic masculinity image, if Patrick wanted to be a softie who got comforted by a ten year old girl that’s what he’d be. Unapologetically.

 

***

 

Patrick had been circling the perimeter of the ancestral house for at least half an hour, fumbling with his beanie, pocketing and un-pocketing his gloves, worrying his already chapped lips between his teeth to the point of bleeding; basically being a nervous wreck.

He watched them all arrive, hidden behind the bushes (the groundskeeper admittedly having kept in excellent condition), dressed as if they were attending a gala, a known method of the Kane family to showcase power and money and intimidate or at least dazzle anyone that would cross their path.

Patrick never cared before and surely didn’t now, either; he was worried about Jonny though -- if he decided to show up. He didn’t stop to think of the ramifications this meeting could have on him when he made the suggestion and he didn’t get a chance to explain the situation to Jonny either.

When he had visited the hospital earlier in the morning, Lena and Jonny had been with the doctor somewhere and Patrick, lying even to himself, pretended there was not enough time to wait. In reality, he had just taken the cowardly way out and had left the plane ticket Maggie had arranged at the nurse’s office. He wasn’t sure what he feared the most; the rejection or the humiliation that a ten year old arranged his dates without him having to ask Jonny himself.

He made his own flight an early morning one, both needing the time alone to psyche himself up and making sure that if Jonny opted to come, Lena wouldn’t be left alone for too long. According to the plan, they would --as Patrick chose to see it-- waste two hours on dinner, spend two hours on the flight home, and be back in Chicago before eleven; not even a full work-hour-day.

Only Jonny was nowhere to be seen and Patrick wasn’t sure if he should feel crushed or relieved. He was between a rock and a hard place; a hell of his own making and he was dreading both outcomes. He doubted he’d be well received even showing up alone, even worse with a date of the same sex. In his moment of weakness, and selfishness if he was being honest, he hadn’t realised what he was about to subject Jonny to.

No matter how hard he paced, or how much he cursed himself mentally, the guilt wouldn’t subside. That was why he found it perplexing that he was still disappointed that Jonny was a no-show.

After a while, he realized it was no use trying to prolong the inevitable so he made his way to the gate, all the while giving himself a mental pep talk; and if he was dragging his feet a bit, no one had to know.

Right at the curb he collided with another body and two strong hands caught him before he fell. “We have to stop meeting like this.” Jonny teased, eyes sparkling with mirth.

Patrick’s breath caught; if it was from the fright or from the close proximity he couldn’t tell. “You came!” He said in wonderment.

Jonny smiled lopsided. “Lena banished me. I was not to enter her room again unless I came back with gossip and horrific tales of your faux Thanksgiving!” Patrick beamed, and then blushed as Jonny casually entwined their arms and ushered him towards the gate. “Ready?”

Patrick took a few steps then abruptly halted. “Look...before we go in... uh... I have to warn you... I should have before... you see, my family... they’re...not nice and they might...”

He was struggling and Jonny seemed to take pity on him, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Patrick shook his head, trying so hard to explain. “You don’t understand...it might turn ugly. They...don’t like me and... they...let’s say disapprove...”

Jonny’s large hand squeezed Patrick’s bicep. “Patrick, it’s gonna be fine.” He repeated.

“They might say things, hurtful things and I... I shouldn’t have...I was so selfish...”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Patrick wanted to shout a panicked, horrified ‘no’ but opted for the real truth. “I -- I don’t want you to get hurt.” He admitted, hushed almost like a secret.

Jonny pulled him closer to him. “I know we don’t know each other very well, so let me say this. I have a very thick skin and frankly...I don’t give a damn about them or what they think of me. I came here for you. Are _you_ gonna hurt me?”

Patrick gaped, caught off guard once again. “I...uh...I might?” He blurted and as soon as his brain caught up to the words he panicked. He gripped Jonny’s jacket, “Not on purpose! I swear!” It was both a reassurance and a promise.

Jonny smiled faintly down at him. “Ditto.”

Patrick swallowed hard and nodded. Jonny’s returned nod felt like some sort of a mutual agreement...as to what, he really couldn’t say.

They walked up to the house in silence. Patrick felt Jonny’s body stiffen at the first sight of the actual house but it relaxed almost immediately so he didn’t comment on it. He wasn’t sure he could even offer Jonny any comfort, especially the closer they got.

As expected, a valet was waiting outside the front door, dressed in a formal uniform and standing attention. Patrick mumbled a greeting, Jonny’s ‘good evening’ a lot steadier and loud. The man nodded in acknowledgment and opened wishing them an enjoyable evening.

No one was there to take their coats or guide them to the dinner hall. Patrick led the way, Jonny following only a step behind. His father’s booming voice was the first thing he heard echoing in the hallway.

“You know, I had my firm do an informal audit- just the financials of the publicly held side. And there’s still several hundred million floating around.” Patrick senior had neither the shame nor the decency to at least appear nonchalant. The fact that they were talking money over the Thanksgiving table was no surprise either.

“Well, most of the companies were privately held.” Patrick’s uncle, Connor Sr. Followed up. “Maybe we should look into --“He stopped dead as soon as his eyes fell on Patrick and his companion, gaze more curious than unwelcoming. “What are you doing here?” He asked in surprise.

Suddenly, all eyes turned to them. There was a gasp, a few murmurs but no greetings. Patrick felt Jonny’s warmth at his back even closer. “I was invited.” He said, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

Maggie had assured him she had organised the whole affair as if it had been a condition on Donald’s will. Either his attendance was a thought that never passed their mind or they assumed he wouldn’t show. Patrick moved a step to the right and cleared his throat. “These are the Kanes,” he gestured around the table while speaking to Jonny, then turned to the room “and this is Jonathan Toews...my date.”

He heard cutlery thunk on a plate and he was positive it came from his father but paid no attention. Jonny greeted them with a ‘good evening’ as he ushered Patrick towards the end of the table where a few chairs had be vacant.

“You have some nerve showing up here with this... this-“he heard his mother sputter as a butler helped them in their chairs. He hadn’t heard his mother’s voice in years but it was as cold and venomous as the last time.

Patrick swallowed the bile that threaten to spill and took out his Conversay. Without a word he played Mr. Manche’s message. “ _Donald Kane’s wish was for his family to gather even at his absence to celebrate the holiday and reflect on the things you are thankful for and find comfort in each other for the loss you have all sustained. If there are any objections for either the gathering or its participants please revise the stipulations at the papers you have signed in my presence before contacting me with any of those._ ”

Silence fell into the room, suddenly being broken by the thud of a chair falling. From the corner of his eye, Patrick saw his father exit the room cell phone already in hand. Uncle Connor followed suit. His mother and his aunt, when he hazarded a glance were whispering, his cousin was once again typing on her phone and his sisters were exchanging glances between them, fidgeting in their seats.

For a single moment he thought Jessica might smile at him even slightly but her gaze flickered towards their mother and her face shut down as if she were a robot and someone abruptly unplugged her.

He felt Jonny taking his hand, a gesture covered by the tablecloth, as he heard little Connor introduce himself to Jonny. The other man, God bless him, engaged with his cousin happily all the while rubbing soothing circles with his thumb over Patrick’s knuckles.

His father and uncle’s return was followed by both their wives turning to them, probably seeking some sort of explanation but they were both briskly cut off. His father raised his glass and everyone followed, even Jonny; Patrick didn’t move an inch. “Let’s get this charade over with.” Was his father’s toast and the sentiment was echoed by a “Here, Here!” across the table.

Patrick saw Jonny put his glass down without drinking and despite the coldness in the room, the gesture warmed his heart; a heart he was in danger of losing to the other man if he kept being...him.

Everyone returned to their dinner, eating the time away as fast as they could. Patrick played around with the food on his plate, not having much of an appetite; even if he had it would have been rather difficult as his dominant right hand was still being held by Jonny, anchoring him and keeping him tethered to the land of the sane.

A murmuring of somewhere broke the silence. Patrick tried to discreetly locate the sound but the only thing he could tell for sure was his cousin Ava fumbling with her phone. It took him a few minutes and the increase of the volume to realise that what Ava was holding was not her mobile but his Conversay, currently replaying Donald’s latest message.

“ _Patrick, I can only imagine what you’ve just been through. I could never get them to be thankful for anything either_.”

His aunt seemed spooked by the sound of Donald’s voice right next to her ear and Ava was looking at the screen all blaze. “... _if you do succeed...you’ll be one step closer to all I have for you._ ”

Patrick untangled himself from Jonny and launched forward, with one hand squeezing Ava’s tightly enough to break it and with the other forcefully reclaiming the Conversay.

The chatter around him was getting louder and louder, his uncle Connor’s shouting loudest of all. “What the hell was that?”

“That’s none of your business.” Patrick replied coldly, pocketing the device and getting ready for a quick exit. He had had enough.

“What’s “all I have for you”?” His uncle continued as if Patrick hadn’t spoken. “Is he giving you the bulk of the inheritance?”

“That’s between him and me” Patrick said, this time meeting his uncle’s gaze dead on, “it has nothing to do with you.”

“It’s _our_ money. It has everything to do with us.” His father addressed him for the first time in forever. He had stopped talking to Patrick long before he cut ties with him.

Patrick didn’t fight it, he let the rage he had been holding deep inside for years take over, consume him; “Seriously? You haven’t talked to me in more than seven years and that’s all you have to say? YOUR money? YOU have the nerve to talk to ME about money?”

His whole body was vibrating, eyes dead and voice raised an octave he never knew he could reach. “Sure, let’s talk about money. Let’s talk about the money you made selling off your business when you realised you could live off of my hard labour, money you squandered away in God only knows what so you had to embezzle my ELC contract pay, claiming it was my duty to pay back everything you have spent and sacrificed for me!

$925,000! Wanna talk about whose money was that? Or do you wanna talk about how when you broke me, forcing me to play on a broken wrist, just so you wouldn’t miss the pay out, and bled me dry, you threw me out on the streets with only the clothes I had on my back because I was no use to you anymore? Which of these past events do you want to talk about you fucking greedy, heartless asshole?”

His adrenaline had probably spiked, he could feel his forehead vain ready to burst and his face flashed for once from justifiable anger and not embarrassment.  “Patrick, that’s enough! I would not have you slander us this way-“his mother’s voice boomed, stern and cold.

Patrick lost it, laughing maniacally. Honest to God thought he was in the verge of madness. “The respectable Donna Kane, ladies and gentlemen.” He gestured towards her when he calmed down enough to be able to breathe. “Such a loving mother whose son shuttered her dreams of greatness with his very short lived NHL carrier that forced her to demand he marry a nice, church going girl with a huge dowry so as to make amends. The same warm and caring mother who when her son refused and admitted he was gay, held the door open as her husband shoved him out!”

_The gift of family_ he thought bitterly. These people were not his. Family wasn’t supposed to tear you down but hold you up when you fell.

Patrick pushed his chair so hard he heard it break as it collided with the floor. “Fuck you, fuck your husband and fuck this family. You’re all pathetic!” He stretched his hand and grabbed his glass from the table, downing its contents in one go. “Here’s my toast, you money hungry fuckers. I’m thankful I’m nothing like you and that after tonight I won’t have to see any of you ever again.”

He grabbed Jonny’s hand, missing the completely shuttered expression on the other man’s face, as the only thing he could see was the exit. Patrick thought he mumbled a ‘Let’s go, Jonny” but he couldn’t be entirely sure. He ignored the threats that were shouted at his back as well.

The ‘escape’ was a blur, the distance they walked as well, and Jonny’s litany of pleading ‘Patrick’’s no more than a buzzing sound. The only thing he could feel was how cold the dirt felt under his knees when he finally broke down.

 

 

***

 


	6. (the gift of learning)

 

 

Patrick had broken down, it just happened. Everything he wanted to say, out in the open. If anyone would ask, he still wasn’t sure he had pulled himself together completely after.

Jonny had held him in his arms, had petted his hair and had murmured sweet comforting words in his ear and had stayed with him until Patrick had fallen asleep from exhaustion. That much Patrick remembered; everything in between that and the moment he woke up in the sofa of Manche’s office was a blank.

“When -- How did I?” asked as best as he could, after having gulped down half the coffee Maggie had brought him.

“Jonathan called after...” after you almost lost your mind, Patrick mentally filled Maggie’s gap. “We sent a car and brought you here. You’ve been sleeping for the past twelve hours.”

“What?” Patrick shrieked. “What about Jonny? Oh, God, what about Lena?” Panic started to bubble inside him and he had to remind himself to breathe. He had been selfish enough; it was time for him to right his wrong.

Maggie gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. He’s fine. We sent him home with our company jet, even earlier than his flight had been.”

Patrick exhaled a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, in relief. He finished up his coffee and got up, straightening his wrinkled blouse. “So, I’ll be off, now. Thanks for...you know...everything.” He might have failed but both Maggie and Joel had actually been very helpful throughout this ordeal, even if they were partially to blame for all of it. Then again, what in Patrick’s life wasn’t complicated?

“So, that’s it? You’re quitting?” the lawyer spoke for the first time since Patrick had woken up.

Patrick looked up at him, puzzled. “I -- I failed, didn’t I?”

Joel frowned. “Did you really?”

“I -- I thought... the dinner-“

“Your task was to gain something positive from the interaction with the family.” Manche stated. “Did you?”

Patrick shook his head. “The only thing I got from that...farce was the confirmation that I’m nothing like them and that I’ll never be.”

Joel’s nose turned up and his forehead creased from contemplation. “And is that a bad thing, you take it?”

“God, no!” Patrick exclaimed. “I’d shoot myself in the head before I ever turned remotely similar to them.”

Joel’s face soured at that and Patrick wasn’t sure if it was because of the flippant comment about suicide or the answer in general. The lawyer studied him for a second then asked,” So, wouldn’t that make the confirmation a positive one?”

Patrick shrugged. Well, for him it would but that hadn’t been the point his grandfather was trying to make. “I guess. I mean...at least for me. I doubt Donald-“

“Donald’s instructions were to ‘get something positive out of the family’. Do you feel like you have fulfilled the terms?”

Patrick couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of a trick, then he remembered Maggie’s advice about trusting Joel, how the lawyer wanted him to succeed, so he decided to take a leap of faith, even somewhat reluctantly. Self preservation instincts were hard to shake. “I guess.”

Joel nodded. “Then I deem the results successful and we may proceed with the next gift.” He stated. Patrick had only been grateful for a handful of people in his life and almost all of them he had met while homeless. Ghost and his crew who had taken him right out of Ralphie’s clutches, saving him from the stealing, the quick dark corner blowjob and the inevitable stay in a jail cell.

Most importantly, for allowing him to walk away from them, no repercussions whatsoever with a revolving door in their midst for anything he might have needed in the future. Now, Joel was one more person to add on that list, along with Maggie, Lena and Jonny; if he could repair that last relationship after the latest fiasco.

Joel, unaware of Patrick’s internal cataloguing of his allies, pushed the remote that somehow had appeared on his hand and the TV screen lit up to reveal Donald once again.

“The...college you have attended...has anyone even heard of it I wonder. Money waste, money hard earned not by you, in one of the least successes-rated...institution, so to speak. No wonder you struggled to see it through... when others with less opportunities than you still shine in the midst of dust.  
I wonder, do you really know how to learn? Truly learn all that’s important?; Or only how to use your anger towards me as an excuse to waste your life away?  
Any process worth going through...will get tougher before it gets easier. That’s what makes learning a gift...even if pain is your teacher.”

Patrick watched the screen mouth agape. That his grandfather had all the facts wrong was not a surprise to him but was he actually implying... “Does he really...?”

Apparently he had spoken it loud enough for Joel to hear it. “Your grandfather thought your anger towards him was unwarranted and his last wish was for you to understand why he had to leave, having no contact for a while.”

“No! There’s no way!” Patrick refused to go down a road that would lead him nowhere. “What he’s asking is impossible. He was the last front, the one thing protecting me from them. He was the only one they feared...When he disappeared...they fucked me up...whatever he wants me to learn, makes no excuse for leaving me alone...”

“Patrick,” Joel’s voice was for once soft, weird on all its own, but accompanied with an almost pitying look as Patrick perceived it, it was like a blow to his wall, threatening to tear it down making him ready to fall apart once again. “I know;-“

“You don’t know anything!” Patrick shouted. “What they did...what I had to-“

“I know enough,” Joel cut him off, “to say it’s worth going through with it. Think of the end game. Don’t you think you’re owed what awaits there after everything?”

Patrick shook his head vehemently. “I can’t. He can keep his billions. There’s no way I can absolve him.”

“Patrick.” Joel’s tone was still smooth but firmer, as if he was willing Patrick to pay attention. “What he’s asking of you is to...learn. There’s no stipulation on your forgiveness.”

“Isn’t what he was expecting? For me to understand what had been more important than being here, protecting me?”

“As the one responsible for over viewing this...quest of yours, as well as Donald’s lawyer I can assure you that this is the gift of learning, it speaks none of forgiveness.”

Joel gave a still bewildered Patrick an envelope and a sheet of paper. Patrick opened the envelope first, revealing a ticket for...Zimbabwe? He hadn’t been very good at geography back at school but he still, vaguely, knew where that was. What was his grandfather doing in Africa?

The possibility that Donald had been a benefactor to complete strangers while Patrick had to survive alone in the streets was like a stab in the heart. He knew the very thought was selfish; Most of the people there probably had it worse than Patrick ever did but sometimes someone’s pain, however severe, doesn’t automatically make someone else’s suffering feel less important.

For a horrified second, he thought he sounded as entitled and self absorbed as his family. He quickly put the thought on the backburner; it was not the time for soul searching – he was still too raw to follow that path and actually make it to the other side.

Instead, he looked at the sheet of paper. “What...what is this?” Not that the list wasn’t clear enough but he just didn’t understand the reason behind it.

“It’s a list of all the vaccines and prescription medication you have to take before you can travel to Africa. It’s mandatory, I’m afraid.”

Patrick went through the list once again. Hep A, Hep B, typhoid, cholera, yellow fever, rabies, meningitis, polio, measles, mumps, MMR, Tdap, chickenpox, shingles, pneumonia, influenza vaccines and malaria prevention medicine. Patrick shivered. He had the uncontrollable urge to go take a bath in Purell just by reading it.

“We can arrange for you to see a doctor here or if you prefer to return to Chicago, I’m sure we can-“

“I have to go back!” Patrick blurted, with such ferocity that caught even him by surprise. He both feared and yearned that return. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the minutes to drag or to fly by. He wondered if it would be the beginning of a built or yet another thing he would have to lose.

Maggie’s all-too-knowing smirk had him blushing. “I’ll see to it.”

“I --“Patrick glanced at the sheet on his hand, “I’ll have to...think about it. I don’t...”

“I’ll make the arrangements, regardless.” Maggie informed him. “Appointments can be cancelled if they need be.” She assured him, taking the pressure off of him at least for the time being.

Patrick nodded. “I’ll ... let you know.” He said his goodbyes hurriedly and walked towards the door.

“Patrick.” Joel’s voice stopped him and he turned around to look at the lawyer. “He’s a good one...that man.” He said, and then proceeded to go back to his papers.

Patrick’s face turned scarlet and scattered as fast as he could, the denial he wished he could utter stuck at the back of his throat.

 

**

 

Patrick had been pacing outside the hospital long enough to become noticeable even in the crowded yard. The gazes he met once or twice were filled with sympathy and understanding, small smiles of solidarity in what they thought were a common agony.  
If they knew him for the coward that he was being, he was sure they’d spit in his face in disgust.

The angel and the devil on his shoulders were battling incessantly. His protective walls were guarding him but kept him lonely, though could his battered and bruised heart handle another blow? And wasn’t it absolutely insane for two practically strangers to be able to chip at the corners and try to weasel themselves into it in such a short amount of time?

Was he going absolutely mad at even thinking of seeing if there was a chance? His life was already complicated enough. Even if he’d take the leap, would they be there to catch him especially after the last incident? How did it come to be that his head was now even messier than his whole life?

“You plan on coming up at any point or are you just here for the view?” Patrick’s heart made a very valiant effort to leap off his chest at the sound of Jonny’s voice and his cheeks turned scarlet in an instance.

He turned his head lightly and peaked between his lashes. “I-“his lower lip suffered most of the abuse due to his nervousness. “I wasn’t sure I’d...be welcomed.”

Jonny slumped as if he had taken a blow. “Why?” His voice was softer and his question had an edge of hurt.

“Because of...” Patrick made a circling motion with his hand. “You know...everything. The things you heard...the way I acted...how I treated you there at the end...we’re still practically strangers and the things you already know can’t be...”

“Patrick-“

“And there are others you still don’t know...things I had to do...maybe you wouldn’t let me...”

Patrick felt Jonny’s palm, wide and strong, gently touching his shoulder. “You did nothing wrong.” The other man spoke words Patrick had never heard from anyone but himself in his whole life. He had to spend countless nights, crying himself to sleep repeating them as a mantra just so he could convince himself they might be true. How could Jonny utter them so casually?

“But-“

Jonny shook his head. “When I first met you, you were a random bum sitting on a bench, dishevelled and sleep-deprived, smelling not quite so ....uhm...let’s go with...” Jonny paused and his face had a sour expression “yeah, no, there’s no sugar-coating it, you stunk! If that didn’t stop me from...well, I...,” he rubbed the back of his neck, his arms stretching the fabric and even through his coat, Patrick could see the well defined muscles, silently wondering how they would feel wrapped around him at a time when he was a) not falling apart and b) able enough to enjoy being lost in them.

Weirdly enough, his thoughts had no sexual connotations whatsoever. They were purely based on a deep need for security and comfort that something inside him seemed to want to associate with the other man.

What magical powers did Jonathan Toews possess he wondered as he followed the movements of said hand being waved in front of his eyes. He blinked twice trying to return himself to reality, his hesitant smile coming out more as a grimace, enhancing his already in high levels mortification.

Remembering where their conversation had been left off he attempted a question. “Why did you...” As much progress as he had made to be braver he couldn’t just blurt out what he most wanted to know.

“When I met you, you were sizing me up, weren’t you?” He finally asked after Jonny had spent quite a few moments silently staring at him.

Jonny gave a confirmation nod. “Why did you...with Lena...Why did you let me...and you helped... I... Why would you...” Why did you find me worthy? Was what he didn’t have the nerve to ask.

Jonny must have made sense of his mumbling because he shrugged and answered. “Lena’s big mouth had gotten her into trouble and you protected her.”

His excuse was reasonable and spoken firmly but had come out too quick to escape Patrick’s notice. Someone suspicious could have perceived it as rehearsed. Patrick shoved it away as wishful thinking but couldn’t catch the disappointed “Oh” that escaped his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expected but by the way his stomach dropped it was definitely not what he got.

Jonny’s nonchalant “Yeah” helped none.

Still, something wasn’t quite right. Patrick could feel it in his gut. He mauled it over, trying to remember all the little details.

Suddenly, it hit him. “You weren’t there. Ralphie was already gone.” Flair of triumph lit at catching the other man in a lie but died out immediately. Who was ever glad at being deceived really?

Jonny straightened his spine. “Lena and I don’t have any secrets.” He stated firmly, face blank, betraying nothing.

It almost dissuaded Patrick. Almost. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze unwavering cataloguing every little detail of the other man’s face. “She didn’t tell you. At least not then.”

Jonny open his mouth, then promptly closed it again. He scoffed and tapped his foot on the ground. “Are you coming up or what? Visiting hours is almost over.”

“That’s not an answer.” Patrick’s voice came out as a childlike whine.

Jonny shrugged. If stubborn and petulant was what he wanted, Patrick could play that game as well. His eyes were fixed on Jonny’s, challenging, feet firmly planted in the dirt like beam poles, unmoving.

He wasn’t sure how long the starring off contest lasted but he knew the exact moment he won. Jonny’s mask fell for a brief instance, turning into a scowl. “Whatever” was all he said then turned his back and walked away.

Patrick was too busy basking in the winning glory to realise it had been an empty victory. In reality, he had missed his chance to follow and corner Jonny in the elevator to pry the real answer out of him.

What was the man truly hiding and why did Patrick had a feeling that it would have been important for him to have that information?

By the time he made it to Lena’s room, Jonny was nowhere to be seen. Without even greeting him, Lena gave him the once-over. Patrick wasn’t sure what she saw but the little girl shook her head, scoffed and made a little hand gesture towards the door on her right. “He’s hiding in the bathroom.” She informed, scowling.

An indignant cry echoed behind the door. Jonny’s “Lena!” came out as a whine when Patrick was pretty sure he was aiming for stern.

“You’re ridiculous, both of you!” She shouted, as well as she could master at her state. “Papa’s bad at the talking thing,” she informed Patrick, voice quieter. Her face turned serious “you can’t rush him, ok?”

Patrick nodded and that seemed to suffice. “Good.” She said, smiling slightly.

The absurdity of it all didn’t escape Patrick but the amusement of it made him return the smile.

“He’ll come out when he’s ready.” Lena spoke again when she caught him eyeing the bathroom door.

Patrick tried to hide his embarrassment under a dry cough but it only earned him a snort from the little girl. “So... I... I want to thank you... for...you know, Jonny coming with me- it meant a lot-“

“Is it over? Did you win?”

Patrick shook his head. “I... well, technically I passed or whatever but it definitely didn’t feel like a win.”

Lena nodded as if she understood. As closely as Patrick looked though, he couldn’t find any signs to be sure she was aware of what had gone down. The lack of pity in her eyes to him meant Jonny probably hadn’t given her any details but he couldn’t actually be certain.

“So what now?” She asked again.

“I have to leave the country for a while...but I’m reluctant to go.”

“Why?”

“I--“ Why indeed. It was just a trip; sure kind of a hassle with the requirements but the loophole Joel had given him on a silver platter would guarantee an easy win. “I don’t really know.” He answered truthfully.

Lena sighed deeply. “You’re kind of a mess, aren’t you?”

Patrick chuckled. “Yep.”

Lena patted his hand. “That’s ok. I still like you.”

Patrick’s first instinct was to ask why but he refrained himself. He couldn’t burden this sweet creature with his own insecurities when she was so brave in her own adversity. “I like you, too.”

“Pfft. Of course you do. Everyone likes me.”

At that moment, like having an epiphany, Patrick realised why Lena had found a rapid way into his heart. She was exactly like him, covering her own hurts and insecurity in false arrogance.

He surged forward and minding her IVs he wrapped her into a hug. A heartbeat later her tiny little hands copied the motion. “You should go.” She whispered, as if it were a secret. Then she tightened her hold for a brief second. “But you better be back soon.” She moved away from him and lay back down her face now hidden from him.

Patrick understood, still the atmosphere had turned too heavy to bear. “What? You’re gonna miss me or something?” He tried to tease so he wouldn’t cry.

“Nah,” she mumbled, mouth half pressed on her pillow. “Just sooo boring here. I need some entertainment and your life’s like a Spanish soap opera. Plus, Christmas is coming up and Christmas is important.” She burrowed further down her covers. “Now, go away, I need a nap.”

Patrick stood but hesitated. Her already small frame now looked even tinier. For the first time since he had come, he noticed the deep dark circles under her eyes. How could he have missed it?

His heart sank and felt the guilt overwhelm him. Was it irrational or was he just as a selfish asshole as he felt at that moment? Without thinking it twice, he leaned down and left a soft peck at the side of her head.

On his way out he saw Jonny leaning against the bathroom door, arms hanging at his sides. He hated the man’s excellent poker face. He wished he could be able to tell what he was thinking. Had Patrick been out of line?

Jonny took one last look at Lena and motioned Patrick to follow him outside. Patrick did, mutely. Only when they were a few feet away from Lena’s room did he opened his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry if I-“

Jonny promptly cut him off. “You need to stop apologizing all the time.”

Patrick shook his head. “Can’t. I have to...at least for the other night...they way I treated you-“

“Pat,” Jonny said and the nickname made all the breath from his lungs and the words he wanted to utter disappear, “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong. I’m not sure I would have reacted any better in your place.”

Patrick opened his mouth to protest. This understanding, this kindness, was so foreign to him it overwhelmed him. Jonny sighed. “Look, Lena was right. I’m not very good at this...talking thing but I have to... we...” he gestured between them, yet the motion was kind of hesitant, “there’s something here...?” the half question was timid and for the first time Patrick realised he wasn’t the only one feeling both confused and vulnerable.

He took a deep breath and gave a nod. Jonny’s lips quirked slightly, then his expression turned serious. “It’s...fast and crazy...confusing... and so complicated. Your life is...tangly and I...I have Lena but I don’t want to... I want to...”

Patrick didn’t dare move, or even breathe. “She’s right. You should go.” Jonny finally said and Patrick’s shields weren’t up quick enough to stop the blow. “Not for your family, not your grandfather...but for you.” Jonny continued, giving Patrick’s heart a sort of resuscitating jolt. “Go do what it is you have to and when it’s over...maybe we could...”

Patrick bit his lip and nodded. When Jonny didn’t make an attempt to say anything further he re-adjusted his jacket and decided it was time he quit while he was ahead. Stupidly, he gave a half wave and turned his back.

He hadn’t taken more than three steps before he heard Jonny calling his name. He stopped in his tracks and turned his head around. Jonny’s head was hung a bit low, his hands were in his pockets and his weight was shifting between his two feet. “Your eyes were sad.” He finally said, making Patrick frown in confusion.

He saw Jonny’s whole upper body shake from the deep breath he must have taken. “You asked why- so...yeah. “ He shrugged, then turned around and went back to Lena’s room.

Patrick said nothing. Even if he hadn’t been too stunt to answer, what could he possibly have said to that?

 

**

 

Patrick lost count of the travel hours to the point that he couldn’t even be sure what day it was. The flight itself wasn’t particularly bumpy and the seat was comfortable but the duration of it all, including the bus ride, along with his nerves amplified everything to the greatest extend.

Jonny’s words whirling around in his head on a loop didn’t help either. The fact that he had acknowledged whatever it was that was happening between them made Patrick feel less crazy. He had often wondered if he had been projecting his own need for affection and security to the one man who had been genuinely kind to him without asking anything in return.

Patrick wasn’t used to people with no ulterior motives. His family was the worst but the people he met on his stay in the streets hadn’t been better either. Ghost came close to it, saving him and helping him make a new beginning but deep down he was doing it to ease some of his guilty conscience. Still, he asked nothing of Patrick in return but for him to never find himself in that position again so maybe in the end it counted.

Only Patrick failed him as well; and that was his biggest fear. Failing a man who by all accounts was someone Patrick might not be able to keep and for some inexplicable reason he wanted to keep Jonny. Lena, too. He was so afraid for her and the distance, the not knowing, was killing him. The fact that he got attached so quickly terrified him. Patrick had learned the hard way to be wary of people, yet those two had bypassed all his defences so effortlessly that it made him both yearn and tremble from fear.

It was witless, unfathomable and formidable. So why did those two people he hardly knew make him feel there was hope for a change?

With those thoughts he barely realised when he arrived at Chiadzwa, a name he could barely spell let alone pronounce. What he could clearly make out was his grandfather’s name plastered with capital letters on the building in front of him. If you could call long, cement tile walls and roof a building, really.

A young boy with a yellowed out but bright smile rushed out to greet him. He looked no more than sixteen and his dark skin glowed sweaty under the burning sun. His arm muscles, poking through a tarnished T-shirt, were a contrast to his skinny frame and Patrick, channelling the inner mother hen he didn’t know he possessed, was a minute away from sitting him down and force feeding him a gallon of lard.

“Welcome, welcome!” The boy yelled in a heavy accent with such enthusiasm that made Patrick’s lips tilt upwards a bit. “Mr. Patrick Kane. It’s so so good to meet you. I’m Garai.”

“Hi” Patrick offered his hand but found himself wrapped around two strong arms instead. The fact that the boy was close to seven inches taller than him didn’t help the awkwardness of the situation.

As quickly as he hugged him, Garai broke the embrace. “May I be first to show you all your grandfather’s done for us?”

He was so excited Patrick didn’t have the heart to deny him, no matter how tired he was. What he really wished was to sleep for a week but most of all he wanted to be done with it all so he could go back to his own life-- and maybe even start to build something with the people he had left behind. It still awed Patrick that someone was actually waiting for him.

“Sure, yeah.”

Garai beamed at him. “Great! This way!”

Patrick followed the boy and as soon as he entered the sight made him shudder. On his right, hang from the wall by chains were rows of metal boards that seem to continue even where his eyes couldn’t reach. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with his eyes and realise that the thinly stuffed burlaps on top of them served as mattresses. The burlap pieces neatly folded at the head he assumed were the covers and pillows were nowhere to be seen.

On his left was a metal table that stretched across the whole room. As he walked further inside, and it took a while, in the far back Patrick could see a propane stove, similar to the ones used for camping, and copper pots were hanged on nails in the wall. The plate drainers that were on what he assumed was a mini fridge were full of tin cups and plates and a few cupboards were tucked in a corner next to a hanging colourful cloth.

Garai took him by the hand and led him further inside. That’s when Patrick notices the bookshelves, metal and hanging as well, neatly filled. Garai was excitedly showing him around.

“This is the sleeping area, our kitchen; though there,” he gestured the colourful cloth “is the toilet, over here is the library and the table serves both as study room and dining room. Isn’t it wonderful?”

No, Patrick wanted to scream, this is anything but. “What,” he croaked and promptly cleared his throat “What is this?”

“Our home.” Garai replied proudly as if he was living in a palace filled with gold.

“Did - - did my grandfather, was he the one who built this?”

“Well, not himself but yes, Mr. Kane, may God rest his soul, has been so good to us.” There was genuine sadness in his voice over Donald’s passing, all the while Patrick wanted to pluck all his hair from his head one by one.

“How many people...live here?”

“Oh, just about seventy. This is only for the ones who are still in school. Some have their own homes and the other sleeping quarters are closer to the mines. It’s not easy to house about a thousand people but Mr. Kane found a way.”

Patrick was shell-shocked. Sure, documentaries weren’t his thing but not even in his worst nightmares would he expect something like this. He dreaded to think how the other ‘sleeping quarters’ actually looked. What made his skin absolutely crawl was the gleam in Garai’s eyes, the gratitude in his voice. How could anyone live like they were in a WWII prison camp and think it a blessing?

“I graduated two years ago but I still live here because my English is the best and Mr. Kane made me his secretary.” Garai continued, chest puffing with pride.

“How old are you?” Seriously the boy looked so young.

“Eighteen. I’m a fast learner.”

Patrick tried to manage a smile for the sake of the boy. “Well done.” He offered. Then he finally realised what Garai had said. “So, is that what my grandfather was doing here? Mining?”

Garai frowned. “Of course. Didn’t you know?”

Patrick shook his head. “No, not really. He kind of went off the grid for a few years.”

Garai nodded his head as if any of this made sense. “Wise choice. Things here can be quite...difficult.” The boy clapped his hands together. “Well, would you like some food and rest before we begin?”

Patrick doubted he could have any rest in there but didn’t comment on it. He decided to focus on something more important. “Begin what?”

“I need to fill you in on the business if you are to help us here.”

“Help you how?”

“But with the prowlers of course. Isn’t that why you came here?” Garai’s smile fell for the first time since Patrick met him. “The talks fell through with Mr. Kane’s passing and there has been trouble brewing.”

“I - - I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Garai sighed deeply and took Patrick by the hand, food and rest apparently forgotten. He moved the cloth and guided Patrick inside the toilet area. If he had eaten Patrick was sure he’d lose his lunch right then and there. It was obvious there had been an effort to keep the area clean but still the stench was unbearable, probably due to the heat. Garai seemed unaffected.

There were a few squat toilets and a dozen shower heads attached to cans and that was about it for the restroom. If Donald were alive Patrick would have punched him.

Garai, letting go of the other man’s hand, flipped over a mat Patrick hadn’t noticed and revealed a hatch door with a thick lock. The boy reached inside his shirt and removed a chain from around his neck. The key that was dangling from it was the one to unlock the hatch. He gestured Patrick to follow him again.

The first thing Patrick noticed, even before the cement steps, was the light that illuminated the way down. Silently, both spooked and somewhat intrigued, he descended down the stairs.

The room he found at the end was a total contrast to the upper level. Not heavily furnished either but with a dark wooden desk and an office chair that looked like a throne. A telephone, a computer, a couple of file folder cabinets and under their feet a plush carpet that Patrick knew if he were to take off his shoes his feet would sink in softness.

“This is Mr. Kane’s secret office,” Garai whispered as if the walls had ears, “I’m the only one with a key now. Everything you want to know about the business is here.”

Patrick gave a quick nod but made no other movement. Garai on the other hand was tapping his foot impatiently, the carpet muffling the sound. Only then did Patrick note the worn sandals the boy had on. Dread filled him with what those cabinets might hide. Sighing deeply, he opened a few drawers, muttering curses under his breath. There was no way he could go through everything in less than a week and Patrick had no intention of staying there that long.

“How long have you been working for Donald?” He asked Garai.

“Ten years.” The boy answered proudly and Patrick couldn’t help but wince, quickly doing the math in his head. “I was one of the first. Tendai was before me. He’s gone now.”

Garai didn’t elaborate but the slight heightened pitch in his voice was enough to clue Patrick in on the hurt it was causing him. “Look...These,” Patrick gestured at the random files he had picked up, “are a lot to go through so why don’t you tell me what the real problem is and I can deal with the paperwork later.”

The words made Garai stand a bit taller, or so Patrick thought. “Prowlers, I told you.” When Patrick stared him blankly Garai sighed and shook his head. “After Mr. Kane went back to the US for good they thought the mines were available for taking. They tried a few times but our guards managed to hold on. When it was known Mr. Kane passed they became more forceful.”

“So what do I do? Call the police?”

Garai shuddered. “Militia, rebels, all interested as well. The government, too. They had talks with your grandfather. Uhm...how you say...meetings to come to agreement.”

“Negotiations.” Patrick provided, Garai’s deteriorating English grammar never escaping his notice. The boy tried to look brave though Patrick would bet he was terrified. “What did they want?”

Garai quirked his brow. “But the diamonds of course. Yellow ones. Rare here but cheaper than others so more demand for them.”

It was Patrick’s turn to be filled with fear. He had watched ‘Blood Diamond’ he kind of knew how the story would go and he was no Leo DiCaprio, not even close. “Prowlers want the companions as well. They’re in high demand and we have the best.” Garai continued.

“Companions?”

At Patrick’s question all Garai’s exposed skin flushed. “Side business, after mine. Uhm...you know...kiss and” the boy scratched his shaved head “other things.” He mumbled.

All the blood in Patrick’s veins turned to ice. His breath left from his lungs in a loud gasp, gripping the table to stay upright with such force that his knuckles turned white. “Mr. Patrick Kane, sir?” Garai’s voice sounded close yet so far away. Or maybe Patrick was the one not there, but years back in cold alleys servicing men for a few bucks to buy something warm to eat and wear.

God, once again he had been such a fool! If he could breathe properly he would probably burst into manic laughter. The man he thought would have saved him exploited people and throwing them a few scraps and a sorry excuse for a roof over their head had them think of him as a saviour.

“Mr. Patrick, sir, it’s not what you think. Not bad. No children, all over sixteen, sir. We have guards and all are safe, I promise. It’s a choice sir, extra income for family. Please, Mr. Patrick, you have to believe me.” Garai was pleading, his hand gripping Patrick’s jacket he had never taken off, with the desperation of a boy thinking he had fucked something up.

That’s what finally snapped Patrick out of his funk. He couldn’t possibly imagine what the boy had gone through, he wasn’t about to burden him with the guilt as well. In high demand, he thought which meant more money...secrets...and power...and risk.

He straightened his back and put his hand reassuringly on Garai’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Garai. I believe you. You did nothing wrong, I swear.”

Garai, still shaken up, looked at him with disbelief. Patrick did the only think he knew kids back home always believed and made the shape of the cross over his heart. Apparently, it worked for Garai as well, as he let Patrick go and mutely nodded his head.

For a while no one spoke, both of them trying to compose themselves. “Look,” Patrick finally broke the silence, “I have a plan but I need to make a few calls. Does this work?” He waved at the telephone on the desk.

“Of course.”

“OK, good. I think...the side business... I can’t...I don’t think I can tell people about it.”

Garai nodded understandingly. “ ’S fine. If you get rid of the prowlers the government doesn’t care about that, militia takes a cut anyway and rebels just want diamonds for weapons.”

Patrick was already way over his head but for some reason it didn’t really come as a surprise that everyone high up was involved. In a twisted way it made sense why Donald kept it quiet. He couldn’t afford them having leverage. That complicated things so he knew he had to contact Joel. He would be glad to know that Patrick had already achieved his goal, though the learning he did was anything but a gift.

 

*

 

“What do you mean you can’t intervene?” Patrick’s voice was hoarse from all the yelling. “The company’s in risk headquarters is US based, the Zimbabwean government is involved. How is not that the embassy’s jurisdiction?”

Patrick was done with this bullshit. He had people to protect and a life to get back to. “I’m heading in the mine in a couple of hours. Expect a call from my lawyer and someone from the US Government. I think you must not know how far the Kane family can reach. I strongly suggest you do something if you value your job.”

Patrick put the receiver down with such force for a moment he thought he had broken it. Joel had been shocked and outraged at what Patrick had told him but promised to work every angle to help. He also had insisted he send the company jet to get him out immediately.

Patrick was ashamed to admit that he had agreed without a fight. He was a coward, so he would flee like one. Garai’s eyes though, so full of hope and trust in him had had him make an impulsive promise. The jet was to arrive the next day so he agreed to visit the mine and meet the workers, explain the situation and reassure them that help was on the way. He had said nothing of his leaving, though the boy hung too close to him to not have at least guessed his intentions.

Patrick hated himself a little bit more for that. What had eased his guilty conscience a bit was Joel’s promise that when the jet arrived it would be with help on board; the missionary kind. Patrick had dreaded the gift of learning so he didn’t ask how it could be possible. All that had mattered was that these people were not going to be left defenceless, wouldn’t become more victims of the Kane family greed.

 

*

 

The ride to the mine was in a bumpy, dirt road that had Patrick sneeze and cough as the dust kept going in his nose and mouth through the open rusty jeep. Patrick would have gladly travelled twice that much in such conditions to avoid the awkwardness that was the meeting with the crew.

His insides turned and his stomach tightened when he realised that a good portion of the workers were boys and girls who should have been playing with dolls and train sets instead of doing any kind of labour. If Patrick thought he hated his family before, then and there he truly loathed them.

He had no idea what Garai told the crew but they were clapping and cheering and for a moment he thought they would carry him in their arms up in the air like he was some kind of Messiah. Patrick turned his eyes on the ground to hide his shame.

Garai, God bless him, yelled something over the ruckus and a path was opened for them to cross. They got into a wheeled cart that was sent down some type of railroad tracks and with that entered the mine.

The air wasn’t much down there and the little it exist was heavy and moist but the sight, even under the deem lamp light, was breathtaking. Matted yellow all around, only sparkling a little where the light hit a particularly deep pick dent. Barrels filled with rocks that would become some rich old lady’s jewellery to flaunt her wealth and hide her empty life.

Patrick picked up a piece and examined it. It was heavy and rough; dull yet with a kind of mystical inner glow.

The first bang jolted Patrick. Flailing and screaming he dropped the diamond rock that shuttered in thousand little pieces. The second and the third had him looking panicked over at Garai who was calmly digging something near the left wall. By the third he had a rifle shoved in his hands. “Pull back the bolt, put your finger on the trigger, aim and squeeze.”

“The hell?” Patrick yelled and tried to drop the weapon. Garai’s face suddenly turned cold, eyes darker than coals, fingers gripping at Patrick’s hands like vices to not let them open.

“This is no game. They come in it’s either us or them.”

“What about the others outside?” Surely a thousand people would be able to ward off the attack.

Garai shook his head. “They’re not outside. In other tunnels, digging; there’s much work to be done.”

“Are they safe?” Patrick asked. “Oh, God, what about the children?”

“We have guns, they know to shoot. Don’t worry.”

The more he talked the less he reminded Patrick of the joyful boy he had first met. He knew the look - he had seen it in many boys who had been on the streets for a long time; survival instinct and fear that turned them into soldier-like machines. He wanted to hide his face in his palms and weep.

He thought back to Ghost and Savage, the things they didn’t let him experience, the ones they never taught him. He considered it a blessing then, never having to become like Ralphie’s boys after they were broken in, yet he felt like each and every one of them right now. Helpless, defenseless to a life thread it might be abruptly cut.

He heard the men come, watch it happen in slow motion as if it was a movie and he was just a spectator. Garai was firing his weapon with determination; Patrick’s still silent in his hold. He didn’t scream at the first punch that landed but wailed when two of them cornered the boy.

“No, no, no! No! No! Please, don’t hurt him. I can pay you! I have money! Please!” People were shouting unknown words, asking him things expecting him to answer but Patrick didn’t understand.

Garai was too busy fighting for his life to be of any help. He never screamed, just let out a few grunts more sounds of effort than anything else. Even a boy more than a decade younger had more courage than Patrick would ever achieve.

The blow to the head threw him down to the humid, dirty floor. He didn’t even have time to send a silent prayer. The last thing Patrick remembered seeing clearly was a yellow glint, like the tail end of a firefly. He dragged his aching fingers and grabbed the tiny piece, closing it safely in the palm of his hand.

Then everything went dark.

 

***

 


	7. the gift of a day

 

 

 

Patrick’s mind was a bit hazy, his ears slightly buzzed and his vision was a bit blurry; all the symptoms totally expected when flying after having suffered a concussion. His ribs were healed by now and no one could do much about his wrist, it had been fucked up so long ago he had learned to live with the repercussions.

It was kind of funny to him that he managed an, albeit short hockey career without sustaining any concussions, yet he got one in what he assumed was the depths of Africa; again...geography...not his strong point.

His walk was wobbly after sitting down for so many hours and the steps he had to climb a challenge, but he was too proud and too stubborn to ask the air hostesses for any help. The doctors back in Harare, the country’s capital, had advised him to postpone his travel for a week or two but Patrick had already spent a month and a half lying in a hospital bed in a place he didn’t know with people he didn’t really trust.

When they had asked him if he had people to take care of him back home Patrick had told the most painful lie just to get out of there. Though, to be fair, the stay hadn’t been that bad. Everyone was polite and attentive and most of the time, even after they took him out of the medically induced coma when the swelling in his brain had gone down, he was on the good drugs to stop the pain from his broken ribs that fortunately hadn’t caused any internal damage.

He wasn’t sure if it was the policy or if he had gotten any special treatment as the Embassy had finally intervened when the incident in the mines couldn’t stay hidden any longer and the Zimbabwean government got involved. To this day, Patrick didn’t know what transpired. He let Manche and the ambassador handle all the fine details as nothing had legally been in his name.

The only thing he had personally done was attend the funerals, even against doctors’ orders and Joel’s advice. The moment Garai’s coffin had been lowered to the ground was the moment his guilt had suffocated him and after emptying the contents of his stomach on the ground he had lost conscience. As soon as he felt strong enough to stand on his feet, he had taken the company jet out of there, never to return.

He knew that for years to come, he would be haunted by dark eyes and a bright smile of a teenager who had grown up too fast and had perished way before his time.

The small yellow stone that never left his side had made his heart clench in fear and uncertainty. In the end, what it always had won was rage - against Donald, his family, God and most importantly against himself; until his body had been too small to contain such hate and then the weeping would start.

In all those nights, emotions and thoughts running wild, Patrick had always come to the same conclusion. He had to help – and in order to do that for others he had to start with himself.

The moment he stepped away from the passport check and out of the gate he took the first, wavering, steps to his new life. By the force he was almost knocked over he doubted the odds.

He yelped and tried to stay upright only to realise he hadn’t fallen over. Instead, he was tightly wrapped around two strong arms that held him like vices.

The words of protest he tried to utter got muffled by chapped lips and a kiss so hard it felt like punishment, the grip on his hair at the nape like desperation. As quickly as it started, it was over. Just like that. Like a hit and run. Though the other body went nowhere and a deep voice growled in his ear. “Never do that to us again.”

The intensity in Jonny’s tone made Patrick feel way more off kilter than he already was. When he kept standing there in stunt silence, bewildered and feeling somehow cheated of a proper first kiss, Jonny let him go taking a few steps back.

Patrick missed the connection instantly. If the internet was right and being touch-starved was a real thing then Patrick was famished and was just only noticing. He awkwardly ran his palm over the back of his head where Jonny’s hand had been. “Oh. Ehm.. Hey.” He greeted sheepishly. “What are you doing here?”

Jonathan’s face was void of any expression but significantly pale, he noticed. Eyes puffed and dark circles prominent, cheeks hollowed as if he had lost some weight. “I was scared to death.” He deadpanned as if it had to be obvious and Patrick’s heart skipped a beat.

Not knowing how to respond, he looked around. “Where’s Lena?”

“Um... She’s resting. She’ll see you tomorrow.”

His voice sounded flat to Patrick, who searched the other man’s face for some kind of indication but found nothing. Jonny just reached over and took the duffel from Patrick’s hands and motioned him to follow. Patrick did.

“So,” he started, trying to break the ice that somehow had formed between them, “How mad at me is she?”

Jonny turned his head to look at him, eyebrow arched questioningly. “For being late...missing Christmas? I was explicitly told Christmas was important.” he supplied.

“Not at all. Not really.” Jonny said then his lips made an attempt at a smirk, “Thought now that you’re back in one piece you should expect some snark coming your way.”

Patrick chuckled, lining his step with Jonny’s. He could just picture her cute little face trying to look stern and chastising. “Did you at least have a good one?”

“We didn’t have one.” Jonny said, halting. He turned and looked straight into Patrick’s eyes. “She...she refused to do it without you. 2019 hasn’t come for her yet either.”

There was no accusation, no blame in Jonny’s tone yet Patrick felt the need to apologise. “I’m sorry. I ...” Words failed him when he needed them the most. How could he express the feeling of his heart swelling with affection while deflating in the same beat with guilt?

“We’ll have a fantastic one next year. I promise. The best ever, I swear.” He pleaded with his eyes for Jonny to believe him but Jonny’s gaze fell, his shoulders slumped and Patrick’s stomach dropped.

“Jonny?”

Jonny stayed silent and widened his step. Patrick reached and grabbed him by the shoulder making him stagger, stopping him from walking further away from him and making him face him, silently praying and begging for the man to dissuade his haunting suspicion.

Jonny never met his eyes and when he spoke his voice was hoarse and broken, barely above a whisper.

“We won’t have a next year.”

 

**

 

Patrick, who had entered the room painstakingly slow, fearing for his own reaction, was greeted with a scoff and a scowl. “Pfft. Some friend you are! But then I guess vacationing in exotic hospitals couldn’t compare with this dump here, right?”

Lena’s unique way of greeting him, chastising yet still acknowledging the situation he had been in, made the tension Patrick’s body was carrying ease instantaneously. He sat by her side and smirked at her. “Well, they did have the good drugs.”

“Did you bring me any?”

Her words were meant to be teasing but Patrick could see that some of her spirit had been broken while he had been away. His eyes met Jonny’s across the room who had been silently watching them the whole time, the unguarded pain present there confirming his suspicions. He had to muster all his courage to just shake his head not trusting himself to speak.

“Useless!”

Patrick guffawed at her fake exasperation and rushed forward to hug her. Lena met him half way as if she had been waiting for a signal that it would be ok. Patrick held her tight and brushed a kiss at the side of her head. “I missed you too.”

Lena snuggled closer for just a beat and then pulled herself away. “Yeah, whatever. You owe me Christmas and a New Years.” She said sternly.

Patrick looked over at Jonny once again, who just shrugged. “Don’t get me involved. That’s between you two.”

“I was unavoidably detained.” He let out in a fake, clamorous whine.

Lena scrunched her face. “Ok, yeah but still...I want Christmas and for Santa to come, fairy lights and fireworks, peppermint chocolate and a gingerbread house, I want streamers and to drink champagne and a kiss at midnight...”

Her overenthusiastic voice in the beginning had now become a murmuring as if the more she added the less the chances she could experience everything; wanting too much with so little time left.

Patrick reached over and cupped Lena’s hand in his. “Everything. Anything. Whatever you want I’ll make it happen.” The promise had been made impulsively, without consulting Jonny but he was fairly certain the other man wouldn’t deny her anything either.

Lena’s eyes flashed with hope but pulling her lips together was a clear indication of her doubt. “Really?” She questioned, looking between him and her father.

Patrick and Jonny nodded in sync.

Lena bit the corner of her bottom lip. “I ... I want to see some fireflies.” Her shoulders slumped sure her wish couldn’t come true.

Lena’s fixation with fireflies left Patrick totally flabbergast. How could someone be so obsessed with something that in their mind was tangled with the very thing that was killing them?

“I’ll make it happen.” He promised. He didn’t need to understand her wish to fulfil it.

“Patrick,” Jonny cleared his throat, “it’s...it’s winter.”

Patrick frowned, “So? We’ll get her in a hat and gloves, hell the whole gear: turtleneck and a scarf and one of those fluffy jackets with that soft crap inside; there is even thermal underwear.” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice and truthfully he was a little bit disappointed at Jonny for not being on board. He turned to Lena and his face softened, smiling encouragingly at her. “If people can go skiing in the Alps we can definitely do fireflies.”

Lena’s face had fallen and a single tear was running down her cheek. “They hibernate.” She mumbled, hand coming up to rub at her nose – a pretence Patrick noticed, a way to wipe away the moisture while keeping her dignity.

Patrick’s heart did that weird thing it had been doing lately; the one that swelled with pride for the bravery yet shuttered by the unfairness of it all. He turned to Jonny with helplessness in his eyes and was greeted by a similar expression, the fandom grip on the muscle under his chest tightening.

His head snapped back to Lena and squeezed her hand gently. “Hey, look at me.” He urged softly. Lena peeked under her lashes. “I’ll make it happen, I promise. I don’t know how but I will.”

Patrick silently sent a prayer to whomever it might be listening out there in the universe to not make him a liar.

 

**

 

Patrick spent the next few days searching for ways to make Lena’s dream come true.

It hadn’t taken him long to find the places in the world where the seasons were opposite. A few more taps on the keyboard and he had all the information he ever needed but a very slight time margin.

He had been so excited he almost forgot to think of expenses. If his carefully planned spreadsheets were human they would have been horrified by his recklessness. Patrick’s detailed, to the cent, budget wasn’t a product of stinginess but deep fear and insecurity. Yet here he was, rule book thrown out of the window, no second thought and yet he still couldn’t indulge because his comfort money stash hadn’t been returned to him.

If he were honest with himself, he hadn’t thought about day to day expenses in a while. Ever since Maggie had given him the apartment keys back, his cabinets and his fridge well stocked, he had barely spent time there. He realised he had become comfortable in letting her or Joel handle things. In a weird, twisted way he felt taken care of. The realisation left him unbalanced. He had worked so hard to be in control of his life, yet he had surrendered so easily.

He sighed deeply, as he slowly came to the conclusion that he was more of a mess than he originally had thought. He had deep rooted issues he had never addressed and it solidified the resolution he had made back in the hospital bed in Africa. As soon as this nightmare was over he would need to seek professional help.

He always thought he was too strong to rely on psycho babble but in reality getting help wasn’t a weakness; his issues were the ones who would drag him down not some weird misconception about people who sought out to heal their souls by any means necessary.

The time frame for Lena’s dream was getting smaller by the minute so whatever he needed to do for himself had to be put in the backburner. He reached for his Conversay with trembling hands.

Ever since he returned he hadn’t made any attempts to contact Joel afraid that hearing the man’s voice would make the nightmares that plagued him intensify, though now he had no other choice.

He hit dial and counted the rings. On the fifth one, Joel answered. For the first time ever, he looked way older than his sixty years. Wrinkles were prominent and his hair was as if a bag of powdered sugar had been dumped all over it. “Hello, Patrick.”

“Hey, Joel.” Formalities had been long abandoned between them.

“How are you holding up, kiddo?”

Patrick’s reflex almost had him answer with a curt ‘fine’ but he decided Joel was safe enough to be honest with. “I’m ... I’m hanging in there, I guess.”

“Getting any sleep?”

Patrick shrugged. “Some.”

“Patrick you really should –“

“Look, Joel... I know, ok? I know and I’m trying and...it’s gonna take time.” He confessed, trying to make the other man realise he wasn’t just saying the words to get him off his back, “But I... I have to do something important and time is one of the things I don’t have. But I’ll get there, I promise.”

Joel took a good look at him and finally nodded.

Patrick exhaled in relief. “Good, good. Look, I hate to ask this of you because you have done more than enough-“

“Anything.” Joel cut him off, the word coming off as desperate. For a brief second Patrick was transported back in time when a huge African-American man built like tank and feared by most had breathed the same words to him as a promise. “Anything you need, you name it you’ve got it. If I... I swear Patrick I didn’t know... If I did, I never would have sent you.” Guilt, Patrick realised. The same guilt Ghost had carried around most of his life.

“It wasn’t your fault, Joel. None of it.”

“I should have...your grandfather, all he ever talked about was legacy. A legacy that comes from power and more money than anyone can spend even in ten lifetimes but I never thought... I don’t think he did either, to be fair...but I...”

“You’re a good man, Joel. Kind of a prick sometimes,” Patrick joked to ease the charged atmosphere around them, “but a good man nonetheless.”

Joel gave a dry chuckle and his thank you was only ever spoken with his eyes. “So, what can I do for you?”

“I need to use your jet. I want to take Lena and Jonny in Australia and it needs to be done in the next couple of days.”

“Oh, of course, yeah, sure. Is it another course of treatment? I have some contacts in Melbourne and Jake’s sister did her residency back in Sydney, thought not in paediatrics but she might know someone who can help.”

Patrick bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He had vowed to be as strong as Lena deserved but it was becoming harder and harder. The blows had been coming left and right lately and he was afraid he wouldn’t measure up. “There... there won’t be any more treatments, Joel. The doctors said... nothing is working...they conference with many specialists...” He couldn’t help his voice from breaking. “Th- three months at best, they said and that’s being very optimistic.”

“Patrick, I’m so sorry. Of course you can have the jet but can she really travel?”

“Jonny cleared it with the doctors. We wanted to cover all the bases before we got her excited, you know? She would have to have a nurse with her of course but they said it’s okay if it’s only for a couple of days and no strenuous activities. And like... for all of that to happen...” This time his request was a little more hesitant, “I...I will... I need some money as well. See, you haven’t given me back access to my account and-“

“Patrick, money is not an issue.”

“I will pay you back for everything I swear.” Patrick promised, utterly relieved at Joel’s easy agreement.

“No, you won’t because I won’t be giving you any of my money.” Joel was back in business mode it seemed and kind of resembled the asshole-y Mr. Manche from that first day.

Patrick went from confused, to desperate to angry in mere seconds. “I thought you said... please I can’t...you can’t just... you son of a b-“

“Jesus Christ, boy, let someone finish a Goddamn sentence before you start losing it!” Joel’s voice boomed so loud it echoed in Patrick’s still mostly empty apartment. “The money I’ll be sending is yours.” He explained, turning down his tone. “Plan your trip and spare no expenses. I’ll have my people return all your things in the next couple of hours.”

“Thanks.” Patrick mumbled sheepishly, having made a fool of himself once again. “And I’m sorry for...” He scratched the shell of his ear nervously “you know...freaking out on you and everything.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Joel was quick to reassure him. “It’s a great thing what you’re doing for them, son and if you need anything else don’t hesitate to call me.”

Patrick nodded mutely and disconnected the call overwhelmed by that three-letter word spoken amidst praise. Never before in his life had the word son felt like a badge of honour and not a ball and chain ready to drag him down.

 

**

 

Lena made herself at home in the huge jet bed with the plush grey blanket wrapped around her and her bony little fingers tracing the snowflakes on the soft fabric. She laid her head on the fluffy pillow and sighed content. “It feels like sleeping in a cloud.”

“Clouds are an aerosol consisting of liquid droplets, frozen crystals and other particles suspended in the atmosphere,” Jonny recited as if he were giving a lecture, “so I doubt you could lay on one and if so you’d probably end up hitting the ground faster than you could spell the word.”

Patrick couldn’t contain the snort. “Well, you must be really fun at parties!”

Lena sniggered but Jonny’s face fell. “I am.” He grumbled.

Patrick and Lena looked at each other and burst into giggles. The nurse, Cora, hid her own snicker by busying herself with the bottle pills.

Jonny was the only one in the room not amused. “I am fun!” He protested grumpily but all he managed to accomplish was make everyone laugh harder. Patrick couldn’t help but think that annoyed Jonny was extra hot and was doing weird things in the area below his belt.

That caught him by surprise, being a while since something had stirred down there. He hadn’t noticed before that his libido had taken a serious downfall since this whole Donald mess started.

Whenever he thought about Jonny the steering wasn’t happening in his pants but somewhere under his ribcage which was extremely weird because the other man was incredibly attractive.

This was uncharted territory; ‘no strings attached-instant gratification-see you never again’ was usually Patrick’s way of preference. Even with Tom, their arrangement was weekend-based only.

Patrick raked his eyes all over Jonny’s body and felt his heart rate rise thinking of those muscles pressed against him. He couldn’t help but wonder how he would feel being pinned down by him. Safe, his mind supplied. He’d feel safe.

With his heart beating like a drum, he tried to find something to focus on that could ground him because that float-y feeling had left him unbalanced. Jonny’s sad eyes were the first thing he saw; the hurt in them a wave that crashed in the rocks and corrode them.

Patrick must have missed something but what he didn’t know. Jonny mumbled a quiet, “I’m sorry,” and excused himself.

Patrick turned to the others. Both Lena and Cora wore the same bewildered expression. “What happened?”

They both shrugged in sync, Cora indifferently but Lena had worry etched all over her face.

Patrick turned around and run after Jonny. He found him sitting near the window shoulders slumped, looking at the clouds outside. “What’s wrong?”

Jonny rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uneasy. “I...I forget.” He said, eyes still glued at the horizon. “I...all the knowledge, the lessons...for a better future...and I forget she will need none of that.”

Patrick walked closer and took the seat beside him. He said nothing, just reached and set his palm softly over Jonny’s clenched fist. “What if she wants to believe that she can sleep on a cloud and ride a unicorn made of rainbows? Why do I suck the fun out of everything? Why can’t I just let her dream, Pat?”

“Because you don’t forget, that’s why. You don’t forget that she’ll forever be ten years old and you won’t have the chance to see her grow up and need all of that and that’s a reality you can’t handle.” Patrick didn’t know where that conclusion came from but he was certain it was very close to Jonny’s truth.

Jonny made no comment to Patrick’s psychoanalysis and Pat wasn’t sure if he had hit the nail in the head or if the other man was just mulling over his words.

“I lied, did you know?” Jonny said out of the blue, after a long stretch of silence. “When I got her... No one would have given a single gay man the chance to adopt, not that easily, not even in Canada. But the first time I saw her... I can’t really explain it... she felt mine...So I lied. With the help of an attorney I made a declaration of parentage...Her mother was a Puerto Rican immigrant long dead, no father in the birth certificate but Lena clearly mixed raced- her grandmother backed me up, she was sick and weakly, guilt at not being able to take care the only thing left of her daughter eating at her...A year it took to make her mine...a year to lose her, too...“

At 30,000 feet high Jonny was drowning. Patrick couldn’t do anything more than hold his hand tight and pray it was enough to keep him afloat.

 

**

 

As if an unspoken agreement had been made, all three of them put on their happy face and cleared their eyes of any pain and worry.

The little cottage Patrick had rented in Kurrajong was decorated to the nines; a Christmas tree and fairy lights, garlands, even a giant singing Santa in a bathing suit in the yard that had Lena whizzing from laughter.

A streamer war had broken out in the cosy living room and the kitchen counter was left a disaster of cookie dough and crumbles from their failed attempts to make a proper gingerbread house.

Lena, with streamers still hanging around her neck, was sipping her peppermint chocolate from an elf mug, its ears-handles too big for her little fingers to wrap properly around, and sniggering at her father’s antics.

Jonny was singing a Christmas song off-key in French and doing a weird dance with a smug expression on his face as if he were in the final of Dancing With The Stars and his win had been guaranteed.

Patrick was busy filming and snapping pictures left and right doubting their quality as he was laughing so hard at times he thought he might pass out from the lack of air.

Cora, who had retired in one of the bedrooms earlier so as not to intrude, came in wearing a bright smile on her face. “It’s time.” she announced and Lena shot up from the couch like a Jack in the box.

She rushed to her father’s side and grabbed his hand dragging him towards the wall hanger hooks. “Come on, papa, it’s time!” she yelled as if it had been possible Jonny not to have heard Cora’s announcement. The man dutifully followed.

Patrick gathered all the things he would need and came after them shortly putting the bag in the trunk. “All ready to go.” He informed them cheerily. Cora and Lena immediately got in and settled in the back seat.

Jonny didn’t move. “Great, where are the keys?” he asked.

Patrick dangled the keys and Jonny made a grabby motion expectantly. Patrick scoffed “I’m the one driving.” He said, walking around towards the driver’s door.

“The hell you are!” Jonny protested, right on his heel.

Patrick didn’t know if it was a safety thing or a macho thing but he just chuckled. “Do you even know where it is?” He questioned, since he had been the one to make all the arrangements.

Jonny shoved his mobile phone on Patrick’s face with a smug expression, navigator app already loading.

Patrick retaliated with a show of his own, route already mapped, and sat so hastily on the driver’s seat as if they were playing musical chairs and he was determined to win.

“I liked you better when you were a bum.” Jonny grumbled but turned around and situated himself in the passenger seat without further protest.

The spirits were high, the iPod Patrick had hooked on was playing ‘Rudolf the rednosed Reindeer’ and equally festive songs and the twenty minute drive to the Blue Mountains following the dusky sky went by in a blur of off-tune singing and cheers.

Phones and cameras in their hands, they walked through a grove of ferns down a narrow path when they started to notice blinking lights. A few steps further and suddenly they were surrounded by hundreds of fireflies flying all around them.

All of them stopped moving at the same time as if they were following a command. They could do nothing but watch with wide eyes and dropped jaws the magic that was happening all around them. It was as if they had been transported in an enchanted forest occupied by fairies who sprinkled them with their dust from above all at once.

Time stood still, minds were emptied from worries and the heaviness in Patrick’s heart eased instantaneously. If he was asked he wouldn’t be able to tell how much time they spent standing still in stunned silence. The only thing he could say with certainty was that that was the most beautiful thing he had experienced in his whole life.

Lena came to him with gleaming eyes and tears running down her cheeks freely and unapologetically. “Oh, Patrick this is sooooooo beautiful. It looks like Heaven! Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Patrick opened his arms and Lena made a home for herself in there holding on as tightly as she could. Patrick did exactly the same.

A couple of minutes later she started wiggling and Patrick loosened his hold. Lena turned around but with her back firmly glued on his front and reached her hand out for her father. Jonny snatched rapidly as if he had been waiting for it all along.

Lena, not so subtly, tugged him closer until his whole side became one with Patrick’s. Again, not so sneakily, she reached behind her and linked their hands together, peeking down to see if they would pull apart. Neither of the men did.

“It’s a mating dance.” Lena said out of the blue, eyes never leaving the –apparently- dancing fireflies. “A courtship.”

Patrick turned slightly and met Jonny’s eyes, warmer than the Australian night, already focused on him. His heart was racing and he hazarded a shy upwards quirk of his lips. Jonny returned and squeezed his hand lightly.

Patrick lifted his other hand in his mouth, biting the pad of his thumb to hide the beaming smile that was threatening to take over his whole face and light the night more than the tails of the thousand fireflies.

Lena took a step back burrowing further into their little cocoon. “They’re just out here for a little while, a week or two.” She whispered as if it were a secret, “Some of them only live for a few days.”

Two strong, large hands pulled taut around her, to keep the unspoken ‘just like me’ at bay.

 

*

 

Back at the cottage they had a small feast and Jonny allowed her just one sip of champagne. The taste had Lena scrunch her whole face in disgust. Since purchasing fireworks had been illegal they settled for a YouTube video and right at midnight both Jonny and Patrick each left a kiss on Lena’s cheek and ushered her inside for a much needed rest.

After her nightly routine was done and Jonny had finished reading her the obligatory bedtime story Patrick stayed behind to tuck her in.

“ [This](https://media.tiffany.com/is/image/Tiffany/EcomItemL2/tiffany-paper-flowersyellow-diamond-firefly-pendant-62357827_984491_ED_M.jpg?defaultImage=NoImageAvailable&&) is for you.” He said, fishing the tiny box out of his pocket, after he had finished straightening the corner of her blanket and had sat on the bed beside her.

“You already gave me a gift, the best one...the perfect day.” She said sleepily but the awe and gratitude still evident in her voice.

Patrick shrugged as if her words didn’t make the waterworks ready to burst.

Lena opened the box and gasped loudly and her eyes misted over.

“I brought it back from Africa,” Patrick said as the pad of her finger traced the stone so hesitantly as if would burn her, “the rest was done in Chicago.”

Lena carefully removed the chain from the box, the little firefly dangling from its end. “Will you put it on for me?” Patrick hesitated, not sure if sleeping with it on would be safe. “Only for a moment... Please?”

Patrick knew he didn’t stand a chance as soon as those big, dark eyes bore into his pleadingly.

He unclasped the fastening and put it around Lena’s neck. She was on him, hugging and squeezing as soon as the necklace was secured.

He tilted her head up, her breath warm right on Patrick’s ear. “I love you.” she whispered.

Patrick gasped at the words, not used to hearing them spoken to him. His heart skipped a beat and shivers ran through his whole body.

Suddenly, he felt her whole body stiffen under his arms and she tried to back away. Patrick held tighter and mirroring her earlier movements lowered his mouth right to hers. “I love you, too.” He rustled, for once unafraid of letting his emotions show.

As they were letting go of each other Patrick felt a tagging as if they somehow had been tied with an invisible string that didn’t want them to part. He felt exhilarated yet terrified at the same time.

Not being ready to deal with the harsh reality of a soon to be broken bond so freshly made, he took the necklace off her neck, put it back in the box, which Lena promptly hid underneath her pillow, and tucked her in leaving one last soft kiss on her forehead.

With a quivering voice he bid her goodnight. “Sweet dreams, my little firefly.”

 

***

 

 


	8. the gift of giving (the gift of awareness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last main chapter. There is one more chapter/epilogue in the story that will be published tomorrow.  
> I want to thank all of you for your lovely comments. They mean so much, you have no idea.

 

 

Patrick fumbled with the collar of his shirt for the tenth time and tried to inconspicuously loosen his tie that felt more like a noose around his neck.

The expressionless faces in ties had their cold, dead eyes glued on him since this whole weird process had started that made Patrick feel like he was in a tribunal like the Spanish Inquisition and the slightest wavering from the Great Inquisitor’s path would cause him his head.

Manche, at the head of the table hadn’t spoken a word and had been blatantly distant towards him but Patrick still tried to catch his eye once in a while for the slightest sign that he was screwing this up. Joel gave none.

Having no guide lines, Patrick decided to go with the simple and somewhat honest route for his closing statement, hoping what he was willing to share was enough for them.

“I spent most of my childhood trying to achieve the only dream I had and half my adult one to pick up the pieces and rebuilt my life from the start when the whole world as I knew it had crumbled down. It hasn’t been an easy process and I have made a lot of mistakes but I have managed to stand on my own two feet and pay forward whatever help I was given. I have steady work, I volunteer at a shelter and I try to be the best person I know how. I’m aware of both my shortcomings and my strengths and I plan on working to fix the things that I can within me to be able to then help the less fortunate and right some wrongs that were done and have come to my attention whilst in the process of receiving my grandfather’s gifts.”

Patrick raised his water glass and gulped it down trying not to show how much his hands were trembling.

As soon as he had set the glass back down, Manche cleared his throat. “Patrick, will you please excuse us for a few minutes?” A polite command and not a request, Patrick was aware.

He nodded mutely and retreated to the waiting area outside Manche’s office, finding himself sitting at the same spot he had when he first visited Joel’s office for the reading of the will. He quickly took out his phone and checked to make sure it hadn’t vibrated while he was at the meeting and he had somehow missed it.

These days a silent phone was a blessing. Jonny never called directly, he always texted first. That had been their agreement since Lena’s health had taken a turn for the worse with the cancer spreading to her lungs.

Even knowing that Jonny now had his own ringtone on his phone, Patrick still panicked every time the device came to life with an incoming call.

The door on his left creaked and Maggie beckoned Patrick. “They’re ready for you now.”

Patrick pocketed his phone and followed suit. All the men at the table were exactly as he left them as if they hadn’t moved at all. Patrick resumed him previous seat. Maggie stayed standing on his right.

Joel cleared his throat. “We’ve deliberated and evaluated whether or not your answers conform to the expressed desires of Donald Kane...” he paused to built the anticipation and if they were alone in the room Patrick would have called him a drama Queen.

He bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t snigger at the mental image. “...and we find that your answers do. Therefore, we are releasing an amount allocated for you at this time. That is, uh...” he fumbled with some papers even though Patrick would bet he knew the figure by heart.

“...$100 million to do with whatever you please.” Maggie handed him an envelope which probably carried the check. “All of us here at the firm want to congratulate you, Patrick...” Joel continued and Patrick felt Maggie’s hand gently brush at his arm even for only a second. “for sticking it out...putting up with some very harsh conditions...and prevailing.”

Joel stood up and walked to Patrick hand extended. Patrick took it. It was warm and smooth, the grip firm yet gentle at the same time. “Congratulations, son.”

“So that’s it?” Patrick asked, unable to believe that it was over and confused as to what the higher purpose of it all was.

Joel chuckled and his brow furrowed questioningly. “Yes?”

Patrick shook his head. “No, don’t get me wrong. It’s not the amount... It’s...uhm...just...I thought...I was expecting something else I guess. I don’t know what exactly, just some profound revelation? The way he made it sound, I didn’t expect his ultimate gift to be the money.”  
Patrick shrugged and added, “then again, this is the proto! Kane we’re talking about. It’s all about money for them isn’t it?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, his question had been rhetorical. He shook Joel’s hand again and tapped him lightly on the shoulder not sure he was allowed a hug with all the board members still in the room.

He walked out of the boardroom with the check in his pocket and this whole ordeal finally left behind. In a deep corner inside his heart, his darkest part was throwing a party over the graves of his blood family’s ego. The rest of it though was grieving, because he had learned the most important lesson, the one that his grandfather couldn’t fathom even on his deathbed, that the green God they worshipped had no power to save his real one.

For death could neither be bought nor bribed.

 

**

 

“Holly shit!” Lena breathed as she held the check in her hands, her tiny ones that kept trembling from fatigue at even the smallest movement these days.

“Right?” He accepted the coffee Jonny handed him, his fingers brushing Patrick’s knuckles lightly at the exchange, with a nod and a sad smile; all their smiles were like that now as if there was any happiness between them it would somehow betray that little girl that was struggling so hard to keep breathing. It was unreasonable, he knew. They both did but they couldn’t really help the guilt.

“What are you gonna do with it?” Lena asked as she let Jonny take the paper out of her hands and tuck her back in. She rarely had the strength to put up a fight nowadays.

Patrick shrugged. “Don’t know exactly. I ..There are...” He bit his nail again, a habit he was trying so hard to break but couldn’t really succeed, “people like me, like I used to be, who were thrown in the streets with no one to help. And I know there are shelters, but there’s not always a vacancy and are not considered a proper home so no permanent address for a job...”

He winced as a particularly harsh pull of his teeth made his cuticle bleed. The copper taste in his mouth and the red around his nail made him think of his time in Africa again –not that he ever forgot really. “And then there are people who have to do...things... for four walls and a board chained to the wall to call home...”

Patrick shook his head to clear the mental images. He took a deep breath, “and then there are others like you and your dad who go through an ordeal with no home, no job- who have to make a fold out couch their bed for whatever amount of time... It’s...”

He sighed deeply. “It’s too much... So many people...how do you...how do I make it alright?”

Patrick felt a broad palm on his shoulder. Jonny, Patrick had learned, was indeed tactile. Whatever he couldn’t say with his words gave it away with small gestures like this. “It’s not on you to fix it all, you know.”

Patrick sighed but nodded. He had been lectured by Jonny enough to know his thoughts; how his family’s sins weren’t his cross to bear. “I know. But I want to help. And now I can...But – there’s too much...their needs are different...and I don’t know where to start or how.”

“They’re not.” Lena said, head still lying gently or her pillow, eyes closed but ears still glued to their conversation.

Both heads snapped towards her even if she couldn’t see them. “What do you mean?”

“They all need the same thing to start,” she said, wetting her chapped lips with the tip of her tongue, “...a home.”

“A home...” Patrick repeated the words, mulling it over. The homeless, the underprivileged, the ones battling with chronic illness...

Lena tuned at her side and the rustling of her sheets made Patrick look her way again. “A home for all.” She murmured as she furrowed deeper into her covers.

_A home for all._

**

 

Patrick knew numbers, percentages and the odds at risk taking. To his surprise, Jonny knew a lot about organisations, paperwork and the right tactics to approach this whole thing with a level head.

When Lena had first suggested Jonny help Patrick with his project his first feeling had been doubt. Even more embarrassing was the guilt that had threatened to swallow him whole when he had realised that after all that time he still had no idea what Jonny did for a living.

“Papa was the director of an agriculture education program.” Lena had proudly declared, leaving Jonny looking smug and Patrick beetroot red, the whole thing making feel quite stupid but it wasn’t like the guy had ‘nutrition specialist with a bachelor’s degree’ tattooed on his forehead.

Patrick had issued an apology with a remorseful expression which Jonny had waved off and had filed it under things they still had time to figure out about each other. He then had graciously offered his services to “be used as needed” which had sent Patrick’s mind straight into the gutter.

Surprisingly, they made quite the dream team. The way they complemented each other was something unreal. They pushed and pulled but without tearing each other down and came together in the end so seamlessly like they were made to coexist.

There had been times during the whole process that had ended up in screaming matches in the hospital yard, away from Lena’s ears, because both of them were head strong and quite opinionated. Add Jonny’s bossiness into the mix, despite how much Patrick secretly liked it, and at any given time they had been like fireworks ready to ignite.

One too many nights lying on Lena’s room floor drowned in paperwork they had ended up fighting over the most stupid, trivial things in hushed tones with Patrick hiding under his sleeping bag and Jonny trying to defuse the situation because he so hated going to bed angry.

Yet here they were, ahead of schedule, with the perfect plan formed and dressed to the nines, waiting outside the headquarters of the Kane Company ready to go to battle side by side.

“Okay, so he is the best architect in town. That’s great.” Patrick could hear Jonny finalising some details, while he himself was waiting on the line for some number magic to happen. Jonny turned to him and mouthed a day in confirmation. Patrick couldn’t help but smile at him in gratitude as he nodded in affirmation. “Tell him Mr. Kane wants a meeting with him first thing Monday morning.”

The woman on his end of the call was back, making Patrick drop the heart eyes way quicker than he would have liked. “Hmmm...and how much is that? Yes, that’s acceptable. Let’s meet at the bank in let’s say...a month? Perfect. Okay, thank you.”

Both men ended the call at the same time as if it were planned and smiled goofily at each other. Jonny came closer and run his hand softly down Patrick’s back. “All taken care of.”

If Patrick could see his own face in the mirror he was sure that hero worship would be the only thing anyone could find there. He was in awe of Jonny and all the things he managed to accomplish without neglecting Lena in the slightest.

Even today, she was the one who had verbally urged him out the door and into that jet to be a part of what had become a joint dream.

Patrick inched closer, burrowing into Jonny’s arm, needing that warmth and strength that was radiating from the other man. He then detached himself, straightened his jacket and tie and fixed Jonny’s a bit mussed hair.

He gestured towards the board room and Jonny followed suit. Outside the door he took a deep breath and gave Jonny a lopsided smile. “Showtime!”

“Ah, Mr. Manche, Mrs. Fowler, I’m so happy you came.” He said upon entering the room, trying to appear friendly yet as business like and professional as possible.

“Patrick, what’s going on?” Manche questioned from where he had formed a group chatting with some of the board members.

Patrick walked by them and near the stands he would use for his presentation. “Please have a sit and I’ll explain everything in a moment.”

When everyone was seated, he took a deep breath and turned to the task. He quickly glanced over at Jonny who winked at him and with just that his hands felt like they were shaking less.

He unravelled the images. “It’s called ‘A Home For All”, he started, “including homeless men and women, youth and parents or families of children in extensive hospital stay. The main chapter will be in Chicago and cater to more than 500 people, with an additional space for walk-ins. It’s for anyone in need of a place to stay and a warm meal, temporary or extended, depending on their needs.”

He flipped the board to a more detailed graphic. “Here will be the dwellings. A communal kitchen/dining room area will be situated right in the middle of the complexes that would provide a balanced diet by cooks specifically under the guidance of Mr. Toews for as long as he would deem necessary.”

Jonny, being the dork that he was, he waved at the table with a sheepish smile. Patrick wanted to roll his eyes and giggle like a school boy with a crush. God, did he find him swoon worthy even in his dorkiest state.

“Over here, there will be an employment centre catering to those in need of some sort of income. Right next to it, there will be a study centre with tutors available to help and guide those who wish to get a GED or additional qualifications to better their lives. To finish it off, this will be a small clinic for non-life threatening illnesses or injuries and right opposite of that an entertainment lounge.”

He flipped another board. “The first chain will be opened in Chiadzwa, Zimbabwe right about the same time. It will house both the employees of the Kane mines and anyone in need of a place to stay.”

Another board, another graphic and Patrick kept going. “As you can see, the principal is the same but with the right modifications as their needs differ quite a bit. It houses more individuals but the accommodations are still comfortable and in high condition. The rest of the facilities remain the same.”

“And how much is this...utopia of yours going to cost?” A grim man around seventy grumbled.

Patrick ignored the jab. “If you look at the proposal currently in front of you, on page 7...” he paused waiting for everyone to catch up, “the initial outlay would be $300 million. Your part will be to underwrite the financing and a loan guarantee of 200 million. I will be putting up the first 100 million of my own money.”

“Mr. Kane,” another man, slightly younger than the first and less angry looking interjected, “this is all well and fine. We did business with your grandfather for many years but-“

“Excuse me, I’m sorry for the interruption, but I didn’t phrase this as a question. You are going to do this. It is non-negotiable. You made this much off my grandfather in a typical year it’s time you paid it forward.”

The murmuring and grumbling Patrick had expected started just then. He was scared out of his mind but he wouldn’t allow his fear to be shown in front of these sharks. In truth, both him and Jonny had put their hearts into this and Patrick didn’t know what he would do if they refused. He wasn’t sure he could handle one more disappointment.

Despite his big talk he was aware they had every right to decline. Maybe he should have lead with the tax deduction benefits.

“Gentlemen,” Joel’s booming voice cut through the chattering, “if it makes any difference,” he paused staring everyone down, almost daring them to argue, “this project has the full resources of the Manche law firm backing it. Pro bono, as I’m sure you will be too.”

Patrick stared at Joel, jaw tightened as not to fall on the floor, with such gratitude he wasn’t sure he would be able to find the right words to express it even if he could in his current state.

Jonny cleared his throat and made a gesture at his wrist as if he was alerting Patrick of the time. “Our presence is needed elsewhere, I’m afraid,” he said politely to the room, “would it be possible to wrap up the details for us, Mr. Manche?”

Joel gave him a warm smile. Patrick kind of hated how much time it took Joel to warm up to him but had taken to Jonny in an instance. Then again, Patrick was in the same boat as well, so he shrugged it off. “My pleasure.”

“Thank you, all, we appreciate it.” Jonny made no move to leave and it took Patrick a few seconds to realise he was waiting for him.

That was another thing that made Patrick’s heart swell; how Jonny would take charge but still make it seem as if Patrick were the one to lead.

One of these days Patrick would have to find the right way to show him exactly how that made him feel.

 

**

 

“Did you win?” Lena asked as soon as they stepped inside her room.

Both men walked up to her and taking a side each, left a soft kiss on her cheeks. “We sure did!” They said in unison, make everyone giggle.

Lena’s chuckle turned into a cough and her heart monitor spiked. “’M fine. Stop fussing.” She grouched as soon as she took one look of their panicked faces. She did however accept the glass of water Jonny handed to her. “Now may I see the sign? It’s not like we can jinx it anymore!”

“Later.” Jonny said. “It’s lunch time.”

Lena pouted. “But I’m not hungry.”

Patrick’s heart sunk. She hadn’t been eating lately to the point where they had to put sugar in her IV twice in the past few days to stop her from fainting as her blood sugar levels had been quite low. She was pale and frail and most nights they had to watch her struggle to breathe. The worst parts were when she lost all contact with reality and mumbled incoherent things as if she were talking in her sleep yet her eyes were wide awake.

“Please,” Jonny said softly but Patrick could hear the agonising unspoken plea crystal clear, “just a few spoonfuls. It’s rice chicken soup. You love rice chicken soup.” He was getting worked up and Patrick couldn’t handle such desperation in his eyes.

“Fine.” Lena finally relented. Her whole body posture screamed she was dreading it but the relief on Jonny’s face made it worth it, Patrick was sure. “But Patrick’s gonna read me the story.”

Patrick nodded immediately and took out his phone, the site already bookmarked and ready for use. Ever since he had found the ‘Firefly Princess’ story Lena had refused to listen to anything else.

Lena watched him expectantly but Patrick made a motion with his eyes towards Jonny who was holding the plate with one hand and the spoon with the other ready for the feeding. Lena sighed and coughed drily but opened her mouth even somewhat reluctantly. The moment Jonny returned the spoon in the plate for another scoop, Patrick begun.

“The Firefly Princess is a glittering beauty, and numerous insects want to be her husband. She has little interest in any of them, and declares that she will only marry the one who brings her a flame…”

Patrick’s reciting was abruptly cut short by the sound of Lena choking and spitting food all over. In between her heaves he thought she mumbled their names, hands trying to reach her throat to force the words out. Patrick’s breathing pattern followed hers, heart on his throat blocking his airways.

Her heart monitor spiked and her whole body twitched and spasmed, her head hitting the pillow with such force it bounced up with a jolt. When her eyes rolled in the back of her head and the code signal beeped Patrick’s feet almost gave out on him.

Doctors and nurses rushed in shoving them out of the way, a guard physically restraining them from getting closer, and yelling things Patrick couldn’t make out over the buzzing in his ears. The only thing he could feel were Jonny’s hands like a vice, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline even though Patrick was already drowning.

He watched Lena’s body convulse as the current from the paddles shocked it, the doctor’s hands squeeze right in the middle of her chest. At a particularly hard jolt the firefly necklace they had put in a pin and was always decorating her sleeping clothes got dethatched and flew away...

 

...And so did Lena.

 

The line on the monitor flattened, her body fell limply to the bed, the warmth of her life fluttering away leaving the cold embrace of death to surround her.

The sound of the necklace clanging on the floor overshadowed the crack inside Patrick’s chest, yet they both shuttered all the same.

The doctor said something, Patrick wasn’t sure what exactly. “I didn’t finish her story. I was supposed to read her the story.” He found himself repeating over and over again, bouncing on the balls of his feet, until no one was left in the room but him and Jonny.

Patrick grabbed Jonny by the arm. “I need to finish her story. She can’t fall asleep without her story.” He begged, tears blurring his vision as he waved his phone towards Lena’s bed. Only Jonny wasn’t there anymore. His eyes were hollow and empty. Dead. Jonny had checked out.

“Jonny.” Patrick croaked, shaking him, shoving him anything to get a reaction. Jonny remained still, gaze glued to Lena’s now peaceful yet always pale face.

“Jonny!” He pleaded again, louder with more desperation again and again and again until his voice was hoarse and had nothing left to give.

Then Jonny moved. He moved away from Patrick and towards Lena. “Go home, Patrick.” Was all he said, in the most monotone voice ever yet icy, so cold it made Patrick’s blood freeze in his veins, raising an impregnable wall between them.

“Jonny, please,“ He begged, unable to understand the reason he was being sent away, as Jonny threw the sheet off Lena’s body and crouched down beside her. “I don’t want to go. Don’t make me go.” Go where? This was his home... They were... A lifeless body and a stoned heart...That was all that was left, half and broken but still his and he wanted to keep it for a little while longer.”Don’t make me go...” He whispered between sobs, whole body trembling and pleading with every twitch.

Jonny’s shoulders slumped, the first movement that showed he still possessed human traits and hadn’t actually turned into a zombie. “…please...” Vacant eyes, barely there voice, yet a clear command not a request.

Patrick knew a battle lost even before he begun the fight, so he relented, not being strong enough to do anything more than give in. He stepped on the other side of Lena’s bed, daring anyone to deny him that last right, bent down and kissed her cold forehead. “Safe flight, my little firefly.” He whispered in her ear in broken sobs.

“Please,” Jonny uttered again, word breaking in three hitched breaths, hand gripping the sheet so tight his knuckles had turned white.

Patrick bit his bottom lip until he felt the blood on his tongue, just so he could feel something, anything other than despair; He nodded mutely, even though he was sure Jonny didn’t pay him any mind, eyes still glued to Lena’s face, further than his continuous presence there.

It took all the will power he possessed to turn his back on them while every fibber of his body was protesting the motion. He dragged his feet to the door and lost the battle right outside the doorstep.

He paused for one last look, one more precious second. Just so he could keep the sight of her and tuck it safely in a vault in his heart for the lonesome years to come.

The last thing he saw was Jonny cross-legged on the floor, cradling Lena’s lifeless body on his arms and rocking her like a baby ready to be put to bed.

Patrick recited the “Firefly Princess” all the way back to his place.

 

**

 

Patrick got abruptly woken by the bell ringing and a pounding on his door. He wasn’t sure when exactly he had fallen asleep. Somewhere between a few rounds of bawling his eyes out, wrecking his liver with alcohol and emptying the contents of his stomach.

His eyes were crusty, hair tousled; mouth felt stuffed with cotton balls and reeking, clothes a wrinkled mess with unidentified stains all over. The last thing he wanted was to people, yet the banging of the door made his temple vibrate.

He lugged his limbs to the door and yanked it open ready to take out all his pain, frustration and desperation on whoever had violently taken him away from his misery.

The angry “What?” turned into a screech as soon as Jonny’s hand got on the back of his neck and pulled him in. He barely registered the thudding of the slammed door. Patrick stumbled back but Jonny’s grasp was tight around his waist, nails digging into his flesh through his shirt. It hurt when Jonny’s mouth collided with his, his body cornering him and slamming him up against the wall.

The kiss was brutal, violent. Jonny’s teeth pressed against Patrick’s lips making him hiss in a sharp breath. Jonny’s tongue found the way into Patrick’s mouth, hot and smooth, yet unrelenting. It licked around as best as it could while Jonny’s teeth were tugging sharply at whatever part of skin they could reach.

Patrick’s hands found their way under Jonny’s shirt, sliding up his back, nails raking and most possibly leaving angry red marks. Jonny’s stubble felt like sandpaper, deft fingers tugging soft curls tightly stealing all breath from Patrick’s lungs yet he still kissed back; open-mouthed, uncoordinated, saliva dripping down their chins...felt like they were trying to devour each other in a very primal, wild way, almost vicious.

Jonny’s mouth found its way down Patrick’s neck and Patrick braced himself for the sting of a bite. Only it never came. Jonny hid his face in the crook there, puffs of irregular breathing causing shivers all through Patrick’s body. His shirt bunched and twisted under Jonny’s grip, his heart thudding loudly under the sudden assault of Jonny’s right fist.

Jonny pushed and pulled and hit at his chest with a force driven by desperation then suddenly his whole body crumbled on the floor as if he were a puppet and someone had cut the strings abruptly, taking Patrick with him. He shook and trembled and it took a heart retching wail for Patrick to understand that Jonny was crying.

Patrick felt powerless in the face of such pain. All he could do was let Jonny curl in his lap while with trembling fingers palm down the back of his hair; the helpless being led by the clueless in the off chance they didn’t both end up in the abyss.

 

**

 

Patrick woke up the next morning still on the cold floor with an empty lap and Jonny nowhere to be seen.

The calls he made all went to voicemail and his messages sat there undelivered. The hospital was a dead end as well. Jonny had already made plans for the body to be transferred back to Winnipeg and no one had seen him ever since.

Patrick closed himself off back in his apartment and curled on the couch with his mobile phone attached at his hand.

At the first ringing his fingers swept right. “Jonny?” He croaked heart on his throat.

“Uhm, hello Patrick, it’s Joel.”

“Oh.”

“Is everything alright, son?” Joel asked voice filled with concern.

Patrick bit hard at his knuckles. “Fine,” he lied through his teeth. “Everything is fine,” Patrick was always fine even when he was dying inside. He forgot about it for a while but he guessed it was time to remember again. “What can I do for you, Joel?”

“Can you meet me at my office as soon as possible? I have one more matter I need to discuss.”

Patrick’s brows knitted. “Is it about the project? Is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Joel rushed to assure. “Just one last thing on your grandfather’s will.”

“I thought I was done with it.”

“You are, Patrick. We only require your presence and just a bit of your time, that’s all.”

Patrick rubbed the back of his neck. “Is... Is it urgent?”

“The sooner it’s done the better for all.” Joel stated. “Your family’s lawyers...”

Patrick instantly knew what he meant. “Fuck! Are they still trying to fight it? What more do they want from me?”

“Whatever it is, they are not going to get it, I assure you.”

Patrick chucked the empty beer bottle across the room in frustration. The sound must have echoed through the phone. “Patrick, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sure, I’ll come.” Patrick wanted to be done...with everything. “Can you send the jet?”

“Of course.”

“Fine. See you in a few hours.” Patrick ended the call, once again feeling his old pal anger make a comeback.

Everyone wanted a piece of him except apparently the only person Patrick would have willing given him every little part of himself. Wasn’t that such poetic irony?

 

*

 

“ _Patrick if you made it this far, I have one final message. In your success it means I have succeeded as well. What I could not accomplish in life...I had done in death._

_The greatest gift anyone could be given is the awareness of all the gifts he already has._ ”

 

Joel cleared his throat. “As the executor of the estate of Donald Kane, I hereby execute and otherwise assign complete and controlling interest to Patrick Timothy Kane the Second, the balance of Donald’s estate...including all holdings, investment portfolio and offshore interests totalling in excess of two billion dollars.”

A young man with round glasses and a boring tie that gave off accountant vibes chimed in, “depending on OPEC prices and foreign currency fluctuations, of course.”

“Of course.” Joel chuckled but it only lasted a second and his face was once again all business. “Now, before we wrap this up, I want to assure you that everything is legally binding and ironclad and no one and I mean no one,” he stressed the last words, “will be able to touch you from here on out.”

He clasped Patrick on the shoulder and drew him in for a hug. “It’s done, son. Truly and over with. I’m so proud of you.”

Patrick’s phone chimed two short beeps for a text alert. He jolted back as if the sound were a current going through each and every one of his nerves. Jonny’s name as the sender felt like a ray of sunlight peeking through the recently parted grey clouds.

Maybe there was hope after all...

“Waverley Memorial Gardens, Winnipeg MB, Canada. Sunday, February 24th 2019, 11:00 a.m.”

...Or maybe not...

 

**

 

Patrick had spent the whole service hidden behind a tree, watching and waiting, dreading the moment he would have to say one last goodbye and pay his condolences to the family.

The moment had now come. Patrick took a deep breath and made his way towards the opened coffin. He grabbed a flower from the bunch, a yellow one with wide open petals, gripping the stem so tightly he almost squished it.

Lena looked as pale as the moon yet as bright as the sun with her white lace dress and her flower crown. Patrick let his tears flow unashamedly and his trembling lips found Lena’s forehead. It was cold, like a Chicagoan winter morning. His knees buckled unable to hold the weight of his grief.

He felt a dainty hand on his arm steadying him, keeping him upright and a few hushed reassuring words were whispered in his ear in a mellow female accented voice. “It’s okay, son, you’re okay. I got you.”

Patrick felt his blotched face heat up from embarrassment. “I – I’m sorry. I-“

The same hand rubbed small soothing circles on his back. “Shh,” it said, “it’s okay. Take your time.”

Patrick wiped away his tears with his fingers and wiped his snuffling nose at the edge of his sleeve. He straightened his spine ready to face the woman and apologise properly when his eyes caught something gleaming where Lena’s palms were crossed.

He took a closer look and gasped loudly. There, entwined with her fingers was the firefly necklace he had given her. Battered and chipped yet there all the same. Involuntarily his fingers moved to touch but Patrick held them back mid-motion.

“She loved it.” The woman said, voice cracking, a hitch on her breathe. “She raved about it for weeks.”

Patrick’s head snapped to the side to face the woman. She was short and pale-faced in her black dress, her cropped hair a dull yellow. She had tear tracks on her cheeks and bloodshot eyes yet warmth and kindness radiated from them so much so that felt like a salve to Patrick’s tattered soul.

“I’m sorry. So sorry-“

The woman shook her head. “No need for that. Come on let’s go back. They need to close the casket.”

Patrick saw the tick in her jaw, the twitch in her eye and marvelled at her strength. She let her lead him away. “Who-“

Her grip tightened on his forearm. “I’m Andree.” She explained even before Patrick had a chance to finish his question and at her answer his whole body went rigid.

Andree seemed unfazed, pace never changing. “I – I shouldn’t...” He muttered, when it became clear that she was leading him towards Jonny, who was standing in the front row, stiff and isolated, dressed in all black and a mask of nothingness on his face.

“Nonsense.” She gently pushed him over to Jonny’s left side and remained glued to him the whole time. Patrick wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or hers.

They stood still as the undertakers closed the casket and lowered it into the grave. Her palm found his and squeezed for a brief second. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw Jonny’s hand move towards him as well but when he looked closer Jonny was as still as a statue.

The undertaker gave the signal to proceed and when Andree urged him forwards Patrick shook his head. She didn’t put up a fight. People made a beeline and threw their flowers in the ditch and a handful of dirt. Patrick patiently waited his turn.

When everything was said and done he walked towards the family to pay his respects and offer his condolences. He stood awkwardly in front of Jonny and debated whether to offer his hand or not. In the end, he decided against it. The barest of touch would be his undoing.

Patrick looked up seeking Jonny’s eyes. Even when their gazes finally met it still felt like Jonny was seeing right through him, as if Patrick was made of nothing but air. A cold grip squeezed at his heart. With his eyes downcast he muttered an “I’m sorry for your loss,” and rushed passed him.

Beside him, a bold, bulky man was holding Andree’s hand and it didn’t take a genius to figure he was Jonny’s father. Patrick shook his hand and repeated his words. Bryan, that was his name Patrick remembered, reached and squeezed his shoulder.

Andree hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Yours as well.” She whispered when he offered her the trite sentiment.

Patrick bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check and recited the same words to the man on her other side who just nodded.

Patrick skipped the wake. There was no point anyway. Lena was already gone and there was no place for him there; nothing left. He walked away, mentally readying himself for the battle that was waiting for him; picking up the pieces of his once again broken life.

 

***


	9. Epilogue: the gift of love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! End of the line. If you made it this far, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

 

 

When Patrick had sent the invitations he hadn’t imagined such a turnout. Then again, the Kane name had so much power he should have expected it. Maybe for once, being a Kane wouldn’t turn out to be a curse.

He straightened his suit, custom made charcoal grey woollen one that hugged tightly all his muscles and did wonders for his slowly built confidence, and straightened the platinum firefly pin on his lapel. He wanted the yellow stone on its end to shine brightly under the May sun.

He scanned the crowd one last time hoping he’d find the only other person who had the right to stand by his side on a day like this. His treacherous heart thumbed hard under his ribs to force him to acknowledge he hoped for so much more than that but Patrick chose once again to ignore it; it wasn’t about him- not this...this was about Lena. That had been the only invite he had sent both with apprehension and wistfulness.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. Maybe he should have written the speech down because he couldn’t remember even half the words he had rehearsed. He knew he should have ignored his hippy-dippy therapist’s advice to speak from the heart as, to quote him, “it is a labour of love after all’.

Patrick didn’t do impulsive, he was a planner. His billion pages on his OmniFocus weren’t there for show. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall why Dr. Holborn’s idea had made sense at the time. Then again, Dr. Holborn had a way of making him acknowledge situations in multiple levels. Sometimes it brought him clarity, others just confusion.

The Mayor announcing his name put an end to his internal quest for answers. He took one last deep breath and joined the man on the podium. He shook his hand and thanked him cordially.

He adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Lena Toews’ Foundation and the Kane Corp. Group, I’d like to thank you all for taking the time to join us today for the groundbreaking ceremony of ‘A House for All’. I would also like to thank the Mayor of Chicago, Mr. Brent Daley, not only for his presence here today but also for his invaluable help and unwavering support of this project.”

Patrick paused to let the clapping subside. “I am aware that my esteemed guests who have honoured me with their presence have already informed you about the project in great detail so I won’t waste your time with repetitions.

The road that led me to this podium today, has been long, hard and turbulent not unlike my life. Many people tried to force their lessons and their gifts upon me, yet it took an extraordinary ten-year-old girl to teach me bravery, resilience and the soul’s vigour and strength; one little girl to gift me the greatest gift of all...the ultimate gift...”

Patrick couldn’t hide the crack in his voice, he didn’t even want to. Lena had taught him that as well, being mighty in his vulnerability. “...The gift of love... A love that is selfless and bountiful in its trust, faith and forgiveness.”

“That’s...” his voice broke, a sob escaping, “that’s how Lena loved me; flaws and scars and all. I can only aspire to pay forward even half of what she had so generously offered me...Starting today...starting here...

Thank you.”

Patrick stepped down and walked towards the sign. He had given the graphic designers specific guidelines and the final draft had been to his satisfaction but here, today was the first time to see it up close. With unsteady hands and bated breath he tagged at the sheet uncovering the sign.

 

Lena Toews’ Foundation

A Home for All     

 

With the pad of his fingers he traced every letter in Lena’s name, balling them in a fist at the end of the firefly as if he could capture it and prevent it from flying away.

“She would have loved it.”

Patrick’s whole body jolted backwards, startled and his breath hitched at the voice he had longed to hear but feared he’d only be able to in his dreams.

A hand rushed forward to keep him steady but was left hanging mid-air close to his bicep, hovering uncertain. Patrick closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to calm his racing heart. Hurt, anger and bitterness all tangled together hit him with force out of nowhere. Great, two months of therapy gone out the window just like that!

His self preservation instincts were screaming at him to shield his heart, his newly found understanding of his self worth begged him not to surrender but his treacherous heart, full of craving, was urging him to grab hold of this opportunity he secretly had prayed for.

Patrick decided on a middle ground to appease all of them. “Yeah…” he muttered flatly after a few beats, “yes she would, but you don’t…you hate it.” The sourness in his voice had nothing to do with the presence of a firefly in the sign whatsoever and Patrick didn’t really care that they were both aware of it.

Patrick’s feelings were valid and justifiable and shouldn’t be left unexpressed. Dr. Holborn had said it countless times.

“No, Pat…I don’t…I really don’t.”

Patrick scoffed. “Whatever.” God, even those few little words spoken so softly yet firmly as if they were begging him to believe had his internal fight intensify.

“Pat…I’m sorry…I’m so sorry-“

Patrick tried to hide the wince that emitted from Jonny’s pleading, desperate tone. He had been waiting to hear the apology since Jonny had sneaked out of his house that dreadful night, maybe even before that.

Dr. Holborn had asked him once what he would do in this very same situation and Patrick had vehemently insisted he’d walk away. The unbelieving “would you really?” he had asked still echoed in Patrick’s ears.

Patrick really hated how Dr. Holborn called him out on his bullshit. Couldn’t he just pretend and let Patrick lie to both of them?

From somewhere on his far right someone called his name. Patrick turned his head to find the Mayor and his assistant standing over the groundbreaking spot, ready for the final part of the ceremony. “Got to go. They’re waiting.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Jonny nod. It was the first time he let his gaze wander to that direction. “Can I… I know I don’t deserve the chance… but can we maybe talk after? Please?”

Patrick didn’t have a clear view of him but he would bet all of his inheritance that Jonny was rocking the kicked puppy look and it wasn’t just for show. Patrick really hated self-deprecating Jonny because it tagged at his heartstrings; no one could tear Jonny down as well and thoroughly as Jonny himself, Patrick knew.

A chance was all he asked for…a talk… wasn’t that what Patrick had been looking for as well? Patrick wanted to hate him for asking but couldn’t help admire the courage and strength it must have taken Jonny to come face him...to take that chance.

Patrick hadn’t. He had wrapped himself to what was familiar, the sense of feeling unwanted and had given up…Maybe if he had stayed…at the hospital…for the wake…maybe if he had fought harder…

Patrick lifted his eyes and looked at the plastic sign gleaming under the spring sunlight... _The gift of love_... he remembered, _A love that is selfless and bountiful in its trust, faith and forgiveness._ Unable to do anything else, he nodded.

Jonny raised his hand but once again he didn’t dare touch. “Thank you.” He whispered his gratitude and turned to walk away.

Patrick started counting until ten petulantly trying so hard to hold at the anger but he gave up after number four, damn his soft heart. He rolled his eyes at himself, this moment wasn’t about what divided them after all but what had brought them together in the first place, and raised his voice. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Jonny stopped dead in his track but didn’t turn. It gave Patrick a chance to really look at him. His shoulders were slumped and the dark suit he was wearing seemed a size too big. He looked small and frail and Patrick’s heart sunk. “Hurry up.”

Jonny’s head snapped back, eyes wide and questioning. “Uhm…I…what?”

Patrick rolled his eyes at him this time, hurried towards Jonny and grabbed him by the jacket right above his elbow. Jonny’s stunned expression almost made Patrick chuckle. His confused murmuring was in search of answers; Patrick provided none, he just kept pulling until they met the Mayor. There he made the introductions. “Mayor Daley this is Jonathan Toews, Lena’s father.” He did stutter at that but only for a moment. “Jonny this is Mayor Daley and I’m late. I do apologize for that.”

To his credit, Daley didn’t even bat an eye. Being in politics Patrick guessed meant he had to have mastered the poker face. “Ready to proceed?” He asked, extending his hand to his associate to be handed the shovel.

“I don’t think I should-“Jonny started to protest but Patrick cut him off.

“Shut up.” He barked but in a soft voice to lessen the blow and Jonny just relented with a nod. Patrick didn’t have time to process why compliant Jonny felt wrong, but it did.

Daley, ever the professional, had already turned to face the crowd even if his words were addressed to them. “Patrick, Jonathan, as mayor of Chicago…it is my extreme honour and privilege to preside over the groundbreaking for ‘A Home for All’.”

The Mayor paused, his whole face turning pensive, “But it is also a sad day...in that, the namesake of the foundation and inspiration for this incredible project is not here with us today...but her spirit will always be with us all.”

Daley took the shovel and offered the other part of the handle to both men. Patrick gripped it tightly but Jonny barely touched the end of it. Patrick saw his hand tremble and quickly covered it with his, holding it firmly on the handle.

The moment the three of them dug the shovel in the ground and the crowd clapped Jonathan whispered. “Do you think...” his voice cracked, “do you think he’s right?”

Patrick shook his head and felt Jonny’s hand freeze under him. “She’s watching,” he rushed to clarify, “but she’s not here.”

“Where... where do you think she is?”

Patrick turned his head to meet Jonny’s haunted, watery eyes. “In a field of flowers flying about.”

 

 

**

 

 

They were sitting on that bench near the construction for quite some time without uttering a word. Jonny was looking at the ground, the tip of his shoe digging a hole in the dirt while Patrick was abusing his cuticles with his eyes shut.

“So...uh...how have you been?” Jonny asked, hesitantly and low, so low as if he were afraid to disturb the fragile moments of peace between them.

Patrick shrugged. “Uhm...Ok, I guess. Busy. ‘Ve been seeing a therapist, working on the project.” Missing you, he didn’t say.

“Good...That’s really good, Pat. ‘M so proud of you.”

Patrick puffed; he still wasn’t used to people praising him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...I know it’s not my place...” Jonny clearly had misinterpreted Patrick’s reaction.

“No,no, it’s fine,” he reassured not knowing the best way to handle the awkwardness but trying nonetheless. “Uhm...how ‘bout you.”

“I’m...trying. I’ve talked to a grief counsel...Maman made me...I’m...I’m trying...”

Patrick opened his mouth to say something, what exactly he wasn’t sure, but words echoed in his head in Lena’s voice, “Papa’s bad at the talking thing, you can’t rush him, ok?”, so he stayed mute.

And so did Jonny for a while, until a broken sob cut through the silence. “I’m...I’m not okay...but...I’m trying Pat...I swear...and God, I am sorry, so sorry...you can’t even...”

Patrick shut his eyes tighter not being able to handle such agony in the other man’s voice. If Patrick was hurting over the loss, over all of it, Jonny was shuttered.

“I...when she...after she was g-gone I...I was done for, Pat. I wasn’t there...I didn’t want to be... I- uhm, I’ve read somewhere that for the first forty days souls just wander around...and I...I think I wanted to be a ghost, just between the veil... so I could, I could just s-see her o-one more time...say goodbye... I... never got to say goodbye.”

“Neither did I.” Patrick muttered mournfully, in barely a whisper talking more to himself and the universe than Jonny.

Jonny heard him nonetheless. “No...no you didn’t, either.” His soft, understanding tone made Patrick feel like a selfish asshole.

“’M sorry. It’s not about me, I know. She...she was your daughter and-“

“And she was your friend.” Jonny said steeply as if he was daring anyone, even Patrick to deny him that right. God, Patrick didn’t know if he should punch him or kiss him. Why was he so...Jonny? “And...and you were...you were the closest thing she ever had...to another parent.”

Patrick sucked in a quick, deep breath, shocked at the words out of Jonny’s mouth. “Because you and I-,” Jonny continued before Patrick could even try to swallow past the lump around his throat let alone speak, “...we were...all that time...all we’ve been through...we were-“

“Pa...partners...” Patrick managed to utter between gasps, “I thought...I felt...partners.”

He didn’t see the movement but heard the rustling of clothing and felt Jonny’s warm hand touch his ever so lightly where it was resting on the bench. “We were...In all the ways that mattered.”

“You hurt me.” Patrick accused in the midst of snivels and whimpers. _You once said you wouldn’t...not on purpose,_ he thought but didn’t say.

“I know...and I’m so so sorry, you can’t even-“

“Why?” he asked with a sob of despair.

“Because I was...selfish...I was selfish in my grief and... cruel...bitter. I hated anyone who had her love because it meant they had taken some part away from me. I- I wanted to deny everyone the right to grieve...to keep any part of her...because she was my daughter...mine and...and she was g-gone.”

Jonny’s words were a broken wailing but as honest and pure as his heart underneath the sorrow.

Patrick opened his eyes and looked at him. Jonny’s face was hidden in his palms, whole body shaking trying to keep his weeping silent. He shuffled closer and tried to pull him into his arms.

Jonny froze to the touch and sobbed louder, body rocking back and forth. “No...no...please no...” he cried like a mantra, “I hurt you...” two words spoken with such disgust for himself it broke Patrick’s heart all over again. “I don’t deserve...Why would you...?”

Because, Patrick thought, that’s what we do... that’s what family does...holds you up when you fall.

He said none of that, he just pulled harder until Jonny relented and buried himself in Patrick’s arms, made a home for himself and Patrick held tight.

When Jonny’s cries subsided and his body stopped trembling, Patrick run his fingers through Jonny’s hair and whispered, “Because I love you.”

Jonny’s hand gripped at his shirt harder, more desperately but he lifted his head and met Patrick’s eyes his black pools full of wonder and...was that hope or was it just Patrick’s wishful thinking?

Suddenly Patrick felt unsure, hesitant. “We...we never got the chance to fall in love but we got that...didn’t we?”

Jonny nodded vehemently, eyes never leaving Patrick’s. “Yes. Yes, we did. The...the ultimate gift, eh?” He croaked voice scratchy and hoarse yet firm and confident.

It was Patrick’s turn to nod, his lips tilting up forming a small smile.

Jonny slumped back down hiding his face in the juncture of Patrick’s shoulder. “God, Patrick,” he breathed warmly into his neck, “I love you. I do. And I’m so, so sorry.”

Patrick gingerly pushed him away so they could face each other once again. “I know.” He stated, because he did, he really did. Maybe he had forgotten for a while in his own pain and hurt but from all the things his grandfather had gifted him even unintentionally this man in his arms was the only thing left worth the trouble. _They_ were worth fighting for.

Jonny nodded and graced him with a ghost of a smile, maybe even his first one since their loss; perhaps even longer. Patrick felt privileged to have caused it.

Jonny’s mouth did that weird thing where he bit the corner of his lips without teeth involved. Patrick still wasn’t sure how he managed that. “So...” Jonny took a deep breath, Patrick feeling the movement right on his chest, “what now?”

Patrick leaned back, broke the embrace and shot up abruptly. He dusted himself off and straightened his clothes. He took a backward step and looked up at Jonny, who was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes.

Patrick reached out to him, arm extended, with a sheepish smile. “Let’s fall in love.”

Without hesitation, Jonny took his hand.

 

***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [fic tumblr post](http://oflovesandlikes.tumblr.com/post/182252291924)

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://oflovesandlikes.tumblr.com/)


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